Postcard from Istanbul

Shut my eyes:day swings way out of reach down a pathway to the past splicedwith instant moments like fallen leaves or so much litter.Eyes wide shut:I glimpse snapshots of dead hands, once buried twice reviewedin rooms no longer here , where sleep masks nothing.Tomorrow still unused:singing portions of revolution, and I cling to the old, frozen bydisuse as if I might snap under new movement.Shut my eyes:day swings away, you won’t ever come to call: plus jamaispostcard from Istanbul, Bosphorus bickers , you, who wereeverything but a figment of my ever present future.