fata morgana
Balim Barutçu
one morning you will sense me
now, slipping like air
through your incisors and lower
lip. you might marvel at
the intrusion soft
sound makes, a separation of
flesh and bone for faint
diffusion. you must find it
easier to distinguish ocean
from sky when there is mist
between, the sort that blunts
the precipice of a stark horizon,
cuts across the seam where air
meets water perpendicular,
curdling light into expanses
of moist blossoms. when day breaks
you may follow the gulls with
your vision and find me
adrift. then I shall leave you
cleft, the way a strait brings
a city down to its knees.
then again I might stray,
hovering forwards, just how a ship
unmoored floats ashore