Two sisters separated soon after birth br one dark-haired, one fair, both beautiful, with shining eyes br run towards each other, eagerly, yet shyly, wonderingly, br from the two ends of a bridge br high over the water that joins and separates – run to meet: br br Constantinopolis, Byzantium; br a city never here and always there, br a city made of images in the mind and heart br its jewelled, aqueous, shifting light br promising and hiding br like a jewelled dancer swirling, whom our senses yield to br but may not touch br br provoking us with mystery, clouded fables, br many interpretations as to her history br to which we bring our own uncertainties; br choose what we can, but, transfixed, gaze upon her seduction br and marvel at her, br glowing invisibly with an imperceivable unity, br a knowing of a history of bloodshed, odious intrigues, br with a dazzling sense of the divine, of holy wisdom, br defying us to judge her, by her charms; br br like an oracle, br speaking with her silence; br like an ikon, br gazing at your soul; br if you lack perception br her smile will seem like sorrow; br br she asks nothing of you, yet br waits to greet you as graciously br as a goddess; as a queen.