What does God know of the bee’s bells
that make the rose tremble
the exceptional flavor
upon the wings of the sun
deeper still, the sorcerer fish in the net
What does He know
of the salt drawn
into the forgotten statue
of the ash pile that comes to temper
without being touched
Waters opening anew sink cool
into the depths
of the lover who stirs the blood
The underground mine that knows its rote
sacred
a wild handcuff on its groin
untamed
dissolves into the night waters
in the fisherman’s cutter
In a dim resin sleep was
the night-burned glass
the slender wind fluttering in its chest
awakened its silence
A timid pigeon took flight
from the candy shop
to its marrow, to its fiber, to its fleeting childhood
into the sunlit street of its heart
it dripped the honey
the glass sparkled in the ironed clouds
what does God know of these
Its swing broke loose from the desert into silver
voids
to the thousands of candelabras on its tongue
to the ancient waters on its branches
putting up its guard to its reckless genes
it was flung
In a sculpture it read the age’s
latent power
It blew the orange blossom
the orange spring
to the waters and to the soulful sea once more
it met a gold-handled poem
washing ashore on its banks
Roses breaking away from fires
covered the top of ominous time
The boiling dawn
at the mouth of the well
the precious waves
rearing up with kisses
how cold can icy waters make it
the world of insects
that awaken the universe
The abyss in the whipped street
of its heart
the sea sparkle powdering blood to dust
in its folds
what does God know
Ask the defeated rose river
about new gardens and warm
possibilities
English Translation by Mesut Şenol