I would like to walk out that window
Into green arms of wind through leaves,
Because that is where I will find you.
Next to nothing, on the breeze.
And I yearn to drop sail, sun setting,
As the rowboats drift
this mornings fish. From the tower
where Venezia laundered white shirts and gunpowder,
It is clear that earth sorts water from water.
The pensiyon overflows with Australian card games.
I drank too much last night and played the fool;
But her arms actually were
Like the eyes of a maid to her lover.
And there is barely enough ecstasy for the Hagia Sophia
To push viridian light through gardens of fragmentary
Mosaic beaten up
by first the Franks
and then the Turks,
still and splendid walls yet,
dolphiny and vulnerable,
Making a sign of forgiveness out of lapis lazuli,
And a far-off look from mortised chips like bone.
While over it weeps
the circus of the dome,
While over it laughs
the circus of the dome
Suspended like some dove woven, cast from heaven - .
It was bulked up in a spiral of bees,
Making light of a skull nursed from blocks of stone.
And my head too, throbbing but able
To conceive not only what mother’s give, but infants also
Who yield their hunger:
the peoples sought, and were put to work.
My head spins around a simple place,
Flesh and bone and blue.