CAGLA
SOKULLU
Nocturne (Falling Gold over the Bosphorus Bridge)
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A stormy night
Clouds gather in and over heads — the deep navy of the above covered in large
gray strokes turn the air into canvas
as thick as summer days where air sits burdensome on skin
Fairy lights cover the clouds, hanging haphazardly with cords sagging
with fatigue lines blur like faded ink
when the hairs of a brush, too dry for a smooth line, rub against paper too hard
Or is it fire in the air, gold and rubies falling from the Heavens rewards from Zeus for the few
out and about at the edge of the night
masked by fog — when the veil hanging between worlds
falls away
like silk gliding across skin to pool around feet and Ghosts curious
with nothing better to do come out to play — mingle with the few lucky bodies
But only the Greedy, dissatisfied with what falls their way
eye the river
and the specks disappearing into the constant flow of ebony
They venture out into the black while the silhouettes of the Ghosts shake
with omnipotent amusement
they have looked on as countless dived into fires and waters
to never resurface among that gloom
And as the Ghosts sit onlookers, too many rockets zoom across by the hour
the fog or clouds they light up for a second with the flash of the fireworks
the bodies wet in water can’t decide if they want more rockets or riches
The storm soldiers on