Aya Sofya
I cried underneath your orange angles
You kept quiet in the calling hour
In a moment of your sheer story
As the moon delivered your roar
Your curves are the questions of sages
Solved mathematically in the night
I wander underneath your knowing
And forget my fright
Six foggy days we were together
In a land between the seas
By the whiff of wafting shore fires
In the Straight’s Bosphoral breeze
Your body moved above me
Until it slipped into the sky
Under Turkic tent of Christendom
While the centuries ponder why
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