Lodos Alba

stand together in the centerless city

on the brown bridge chipped in light

watching fisherman cast olta kamisi

hooks baited with smaller fish

to catch the larger fish writhing in the Golden Horn

without preference for place

slip curiously down the stone stairway

mute with the hours

the cool heft,

collected in stone

polished by sandles

Cami, the minarets pointing nowhere

the water is also a bridge

and the land is flooding the sea

and the men selling fish sandvic from boats

leave the bones inside the meat

without preference for time

climb the indecisive walls

Theodisian moats fetid with soil

men vanish into bright caves

a socket where the highway cuts through

it will also fill with soil and fish and weight

while the wind moves over us all

without a body or thought

decay without light or mood

the bowels of the city are filled with older cities

as our gods have the skulls of older gods

you reach the sea at Sela and turn to face the sun

the wind touches you both

shared and unsatisfying

_____________________________
An Original Poem by Scott Beauchamp

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