A Day in Cappadocia / POEM

Flies wake up before humans

 while the sun rises behind Mount Ararat.

The steppe and the sky are covered with blue velvet, 

the moon loses its light.

Hot air balloons caress the cosmos

as all the Cappadocians hug their pillows

and the earth waits for them to be planted,

 to give them their aliment.

Sun of June tires the steppe soil in Cappadocia

where its people are the same as the earth, jaded.

Young men with their timeworn shirts are squeezed out

  like grapes until Venus shines out of their sweaty palms,

 until fermented.

While the Sun is making love with their parched skin 

on a pickup truck, they go home thinking 

about the ice-cold sherbet their mothers have prepared.

On the way back home, the blue of the sky hides into the oak forest

wearing a damson robe.

After dinner with a huge plate of stuffed bell pepper with lean ground beef,

 lassitude they feel leaves its place to composure that cherishes them.