Kirkis and Karvounis

A blonde and blue eyed Dorian Greek no doubt I once ran across
cooling his feet in the entrance to a water tunnel Pythagoras had
designed and built right through the side of a mountain
to protect his town from possible dehydration under
siege, this lively paragon of Greek told me many
things about his island one of which was that
Samos means high place in ancient
Phoenician and looking up into the deep blue sky where
eagles fly alone their cry I still hear clearly in my mind
and down from the mountain fastness rode an old
white bearded man on a white steed holding
a throng of white goats on white tethers
of rope in one hand, he had a far off
look like he came from a different
world than the one that we can
see and I said Yiassoo and he
replied Yiassoo and that
was all disappearing
round a bend
behind me
not even
sure that I had
seen him it could
have been a dream
sequence, same with
her, I had sent a small
boy to give her sea shells and
point me out to her and she waved
and I was in love, it never took much
in those days, she was half Swedish and
half Cypriot her father a journalist, we wrote
for years, how much I enjoyed my innocence
when I was young and my heart was pure
and a girl could be a friend and nothing
more because as they always tell you
when your affair ends, friendship
is worth more and endures
that was Samos then
not now I’m sure
where in the
bay of
the storks in spring
circled round on their way
back from South Africa to
France and Holland,
mated for life and
building nests
on farmers
but still
I am
the lone
eagle circling
round the peaks of
Kirkis and Karvounis
in my sleep when dreams
pull me out of my self pity setting me free

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