For N.Y.Pi. and Melanie
I
Through ouzo's oil and coffee grains
thirst is slaked by coolest water.
Across the gulf through
a greenhouse of masts
blurred mountains are rubbed in,
speculatively.
Closer, the warm anachronism
of lamplight in the soft pink dusk.
The outrageous Greek roar
gurgling, rackety (bikes, cries),
before the patient, unachievable
void of silence.
Bright against sullen - all bespeaks
the other's eternal
vanishing, impish - gone,
aghast. Always the foetal feeding
off the octopus from which it floats
aimless, like a gormless
astronaut
II
The scaffolding of night is set in place.
Upon it climbs the witless unacknowledged
selves of the clattering villagers, while the disembodied
islands of the blest beckon unassuagably
within the spectral light.
Hermes thrice-blest
clambers up
the laders from Hades: his stories
unsubstantiated -
to which the gods must yet
give credence.
The familiar
men and women, at home in
their language,
feel the impatient whispering of his feet.
III
Out of this cauldron's mist, this reaching,
this sea, our mother; this land,
our hard knowledge. Meet me
in the morning and all will be
driving anonimity,
the scaffolding tenderly
dismantled to allow
the budding day
its hapless sway.
IV
Abides the twin
in darkness. Flexing
fingers of desire - the endless
relay. Pass
the baton. Know.
Thyself.
Aegina 31.v. and 3.vi. '00
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