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