1.
Remember mornings
east of Greece,
windows dreaming
open-eyed, giving back
the sea, the sky -
silk screens steeped
in water, light...
Old villas - islands
among trees festooned
with bulbs of cool
gold flesh; black
pomegranates, split
and spent; jade nippled
buds of loquats, figs...
Remember fragrances
suspended in a deep
intake of breath,
essence of orange
groves, pine incense,
cypresses' dark accent...
2.
Cavalcades of women reaching out
to touch forbidden earth,
across invisible barbed wire
and wheatfields mined with hate;
a widow glimpsed in Levkosia
waving from her gate,
tears for Cyprus coursing
down her face...
3.
No
candle flame,
no tongue convey
what these eyes bear
in silence - the imprint
of a dead and living Cyprus.
4.
Out of morning's languorous,
slow reverie arise, translucent,
faceted as gems, the days...
Canticles for Cyprus
© Copyright: Jena Woodhouse, 2003
Свидетельство о публикации №103042300617
Свидетельство о публикации №103042300617
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