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