Driving to Cappadocia 

We leave the house before it's light -
The valley is filled with the scent of pines -
My footsteps are soft on the marble floors -
Deep shadows hide the boulders in the river beds

My mind is full of the map of our journey to the east -
The gorges - the mountains - the line of the Old Silk Road,
High on the treeless plains, with the lakes and empty skies,
Past caravanserais and holy cities, all the way to China

I see, already, the slender women, dressed in black,
Their beautiful fierce faces, turned to the dazzling skies -
I see the supplicants, hands upraised, before the tombs of dervishes

Ken drives the Fiat Palio, warm in his red sweater -
His voice is rich and calm -
He tells me how he and Jane saw the total eclipse, when they stayed near Antalya -
How a dark shield was placed on the centre of the sun

We drive through the mountains to the sea -
As dawn comes, we see the deep set bays, the trees etched upon the summits,
The morning star like a great lamp, hanging low in the sky,
The light of falling angels -

We drive north, past stone farm houses,
Dogs leaping up when caught in the full beam -
Their eyes like chips of glass -

Driving into the sunrise, the light pours down upon an empty land -
We pull into a silent square,
Sip Nescafe in tiny chipped cups,
See every moment set into the stones beneath our feet -

The flow of time is halted under the arches of this caravanserai -
No brightness brighter than this light -
No words surer than those carved here -
All the precious cargo is there for you to see,
Driving to Cappadocia