Day Sixteen
We slip down the steps
with the dust and the lizards.
Past imagined arches and
dreamt-up mosaics.
Long dead masons
ate olives and bread here.
Curious dolphins
watched them depart.
The dry, hot brushwood
once whispered to bulls.
But speaks not of ruin
in time's labyrinth.
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Day 2 Simple fingers to the string What a little thing to cultivate, unreal as it is; not to be seen or touched but felt, enduring, where so... -
Day Twenty Fantastic style designs on pottery from Hacilar. Image from Yakar 2005. The ancients believed That culture was Construed by pot... -
So, two weeks in and I'm somewhat surprised to find myself sticking at this poetry malarkey. In fact I'm enjoying it very much. To...
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