Walking at Ephesus
It
may be a simple effect of light, of the whiteness of rays
of
the shimmering blinding sunshine flickering between columns
glittering
particle sparkles in the crystalline texture of marble
but
these careless tumbled liths appear restless, uneasy
heavy
and broken, a jumbled jigsaw among the stunted grass
poking
through rough gravel, rising up, re-assembling
resolving
into many-godded temples, triumphal
arches, fountains, houses,
palaces,
tombs and theatres, gateway carvings still fresh
features
crisp and sharp, markings new-minted clear
no
longer rough abandoned Roman ruins, nor the broken back of Byzantium
but
a living space, a breathing place, where ghosts may freely roam
The
death-heat of Anatolia, barely relieved by the coolness of water
or
by fountains plashing into placid pools and baths
and
the leafy colonnaded avenue of a tree-shaded Arcadian Way
its
side-street walkways busy with the simple sound of feet, sandal-clad
people
about their business, voices of slaves and masters
traders
in the marketplace, and the client-busy brothel
clients
inspecting the flesh on offer
the
girls alert for someone new, perhaps an interesting stranger
a
darkened sailor from the harbour-side
climbing
the shining hill, far up into the heaving city
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