I am in love with a tower
I am one of the fluorescent white seagulls
spinning like magnets
round its axis by night

We squeezed into a black and white shot
It was an extended autumn, cool and light
My beloved was majestic
A story older than stone and roots, at the end
of the last chapter I was always there

It became a habit, I would lift up my head on the ferry
to look for the tower, check it was still there
I would pay homage

Of course it was a challenge to stay in one piece
in this city, not to be pounded, what did you expect?
Out of its time, the tower was the only thing left standing
when everything else came crashing down
And as I gazed at it, I asked myself
why my heart was always so naïve
a fool, to be blunt, as we’d call it between ourselves
till our eyes swam with tears
and we were laughing

I would call it the tower of the wind
The person at the summit, neighbour to the clouds
Istanbul would spin round it in devoted circles
The stones of past centuries would slip
with today’s rain
‘Shall we lower the sky to Galata
and live forever?’
said a snatch of graffiti
and I wanted its author to ask me
every time I walked past

I opened my arms to embrace it
My stone beloved grew warm between my palms

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