Baglama

My priggish plump fingers frayed against the fretless neck of a thousand stringed lute each chord I strummed cracked open galloping gaseous spheres of scorching flame my velveteen vibrato commanding them into prostration Lo! how they fell like dead leaves As they knelt before me purifying themselves in the same water I once walked upon on their vigor blossomed in me like lilacs in spring my baglama punctured the starry gardens like a Janissary’s blade coated in Byzantine blood