Your face is a street leading down to the sea,
It’s a crossroads, your face is a water clock
Whenever I bend down to your face
It’s a market opening early
You are a lily without rhyme or metre
White I breathe upon you deep blue
As if I were working on a long poem
Your face conferred its longest rhymes
And who knows what your face rubs off
Perhaps I too am prose
İlhan Berk
Translated by George Messo
