For the old city
on a twilight pilgrimage
I cross Venetian ramps
i journey inward
seeking a language of lament
a muffled murmuring of old heart
graffiti on old walls
our dreams are in the tombs
tombs are in our dreams
eyes blind and eager
jalousies hiding light of white courtyards
ghosts of mustachioed men striding wicker chairs
muddied destinies at the bottom of coffee cups
shadows of grandmothers
in the memory of lemon-trees
arthritic hands still joining my quilt piece by piece
shielding my body
stone uterus of weeping icons
Byzantine saints whose names I don't recall
only a memory a fragrance of ancient smoking leaves
and wailing prayers of unseen hodjas to the north
warm countenance of youth in cold helmets
is the lifeline of this ailing heart
fluttering banners
that banish me from severed arteries
and I move outward through the city gates
while I dream of east and north
of apparitions of community
a communion
with sea citrus milk of sheep
and olive
in a dawning waning earth
fragile trophy of my quest
Nicosia 1993 (slightly revised 2000)
