Minarets

Sabah. (Dawn)

Wake up!
The adhan is impatient,
nudging the faithful out of another slumber
and into the brazen light of a new day. 
The dawn zephyr teases,
swirling from dome to dome,
writing calligraphy in the sky,
ghosting the margins of melodies
that hold something more than music. 

Rast. (Midday)

The tree of life climbs off of the carpet
and out of the carpet shop.
Roots snake their way through the earthy fibers,
creeping home, toward Konya,
lighting the path of pilgrimage
for mystics.
I drink apple tea
And trace the sefirot
With my fingers. 

Hicaz. (Afternoon)

Chestnuts roast on street corners,
lending a burnt, wintery contour
to the sultry summer breeze.
Holy cities and holy flight
beckon.

Segah.  (Sunset)

The late afternoon sulks, languid and slippery.
Crunchy fog seethes in the catacombs, 
while the adhan swirls through the subterranean channels 
in wisps.
The sun tips behind the bulbous ancient skyline
illuminating sebaceous straits
And fabled crossroads.

Ussak. (Last Light)

The cats of Üsküdar think they are auditioning for a sequel.
They wind their way through the benches littering the shoreline,
persistent creatures of shadow and mirth, vice and vanity.
Across the water, the Maiden’s Tower shimmers in the dying light.
The asp hides in the fruit,
waiting.

***