in the park near my new flat
turkish men gather to play
volleyball; each night just before 6:30
they arrive in ones and twos
a few small children
two boys, one little girl
how happy they make me
with their lively chatter
in a tongue i cannot understand
but with the same expression and intonation
as my old viennese friends
waiting for me, always late,
to the roman bathhouse,
the sauna,
the kitchen,
where our hands
spoke the language of
good food
good laughter
good life
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