Salim Gold
À Istanbul (IV)
The muezzin, awake to God, awakes us,
Crying; his words splinter inside our ears,
While daylight sparks upon the splintered sea.
Look! The Bosphorus shines like bone. Next, blue dusk
Boils among black palms and gold minarets.
Then, night—fat with stars—shelters an Eden
Of exchange: Flood our mouths with wine and kisses;
That welling fanaticism is Want.
Rococo, turquoise, baroque, is the sea.
Surface gloss peals in scales of light, but you,
Albino houri, kindle flesh gold-black.
If pious, fluorescent mosques lock us out.
So be it: We kneel to a higher Love.
Yes, doff your watch: It’s time to make Time stop.
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