Haunted Citadel, Monemvasia

1.

Blond wheat and silver groves
bisected by the road.
Watching henna heights displace
white villages and fig trees,
waiting for a vision
of a citadel beside the sea,
I hear my own heart, pumping,
but mistake it for
the parched land, panting.

2.

There is a quality of light
innate to eyes and seas;
a revelation like the morning
sky flares out of midnight;
the eyes of love anticipate
the morning sea's translucency;
fish leap for the stars,
possessed by dreams of flight.

3.

Here is the walled city where,
among the upward-twisting alleys,
you will find a house
to write your songs
and contemplate the sea.
Though I may not
be near you then,
the breeze will kiss
your face for me;
you'll have
blue shutters and white lace,
sweet basil on the window-sills;
baskets you will fill with lemons;
casks of olives from your tree...
You will have the light of Greece,
and in your courtyard - bitter-laurels.

4.

The pot of basil
on the sill
has tiny, pointed
tongues of leaf.
Sky and sea unfurl
a vast blue sail to fill
the window-space.

I hear the languid
voice of summer
whispering
among the stones
like ghosts of smugglers
or lovers searching for
a hiding-place.