Chorus of the Wall-Stones of Selge

Chorus of the Wall-Stones of Selge

We, the stones of Selge temples, were cut
to face inward—
to see and to guard
whoever comes in.

But when people lost their faith
in the abodes of the sacred,
they, newly unanchored,
also unanchored us—

and set us as convenient sentinels
into the gaps of outer walls
they learned to trust
instead of the inner flames
meant to be ever kept alive,

which they then did not bother to repair—
for it was the chill of the new interior darkness
they believed would make all less painful.

And so they turned the world inside out,
leaving the center ruined and hollowed,
and so, step by step,
the once marbled and polished spirit
became broken spolia, silt, and mud—
for the outer cannot hold
all by itself alone.

And even now—as we lie
scattered and cracked—
today’s young women and girls
of Selge, now called Altınkaya,
are not allowed to go to the hills,
to roam the ruins and forests—
they must stay by their homes—

unlike young men and boys
who bring animals to graze
in the orchestra of the Selge theater,
and who are not feared
to stop and tap
into us
and unmute wisdom
from its pristine ancient source.

O subtle and fine
is the geometry of our waiting,
holding its timelessness
on the final edge of breath,

as even now, in devoted silence,
we press our memories
back
into their speaking shape.