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  • Our bedroom window faces the street, so we expect these calls: garbage bins and trucks chattering the glass and detritus; late-night revelers singing the stories and sadnesses; cats and pigeons narrating the night.

    We leave the windows open.

    From sleep's drifts, we step through this clatter towards the dawn song promised from just across the way, the neighborhood mosque -- green, its slender minaret ringed by loudspeakers, one pointed directly at us--

    and there it is, the deep dawn rumble of the muezzin cracking open the day, softly, firmly.

    We let his verses wash over us.
  • But then there's this, too.
    Other voices.
    Dogs, harmonizing with the muezzin, a sad howling, pitch perfect, rising rising rising then trailing like a train on the gown of the call.

    In the lull, barks and rooster trills and a motorscooter revving up
    and quiet footsteps tack-tacking the sidewalk below

    as Istanbul offers us morning.
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