We are the music makers, we are the dreamers of dreams...

June 23, sometime after midnight...

Play for me,

dear accordian man,

play for me, your Turkish song.

You need no words

for your melody,

just willing hands,

determined, calloused fingers,

strong lyrical arms,

and a spirit that bellows

between a cobblestone pathway

and the swallows

that dance

illuminated and irridescent,

white bellies arabesque on the wind...

Play for me,

beloved accordian man,

guardian of my waking and sleeping.

I have seen you

in every place I have ever walked...

And as you linger on your final chord

you tip your hat

just to me

and wink,

a knowing

between song and silent lyric,

between you and me,

here in Istanbul...