Thursday, December 24, 2020

Zaknthos

 

Faraway the sea was a night-time city.

I stood unsteady, too much wine;

faraway the sea was shining in the moonlight.


Closer, by my hand in fact, a string of lights

on a clothes line,

a string of lights like a harbour-front on a Greek island.


Zaknthos, but that’s years ago;

the restaurants down by the harbour,

people passing in droves, waves of warm night humour,


boats jangling

and a quartet playing its way up and down the strip,

bouzouki music to clinking glasses.


My legs gone to rubber,

recent rain reflecting light from watching shrubs;

I would have sung, but it was far too cold.



Happy Christmas. 


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