The December wind blows
over the Libyan Sea.
Hellenic blue water
crashes into boulder.
White water soaks
the walkway. Cats run.
In the hills, sunshine,
mountain herbs, fragrant,
mix with the incense
from the chapel.
The bells of goats
hidden in the rocks and trees.
A kid cries for its mother.
Late autumnal layer
still heavy in the olive groves.
The afternoon sun
teases out the unctuous
jasmine flower.
 

A dog sleeps in the middle of the road.
No cars pass this way.
 

In the town, later,
a sole scooter chugs
along the shoreline.
Old men in the cafe at night.
Playing board games.
Shouting.
Drinking.
Smoking.
In the bar, the young men,
watching football on a satellite channel.
The women at home.
Children play outside
the grill house.
Waiting for their gyro,
too soon for bedtime.
The waves continue
to crash. The wind blows.
Even the tourists will
sleep with windows
closed tonight.
 

And the ferry
lies dormant, another day.