Look at the light of the candle

flickering like a spirit trapped in the wine glass,

who's watching over this close communion?

It seems you can forget a face

just like anything else,

like the rocks and the flowers

on the hillside slipping into the tranquil

night around us.

Leaving behind the aftermath of a scene,

this little table with it's plates,

olive stones and breadcrumbs.

What else can you haul out of the darkness?

Even the voice is faint,

Put your ear here and listen but

there is only the crickets singing to the moon,

the ocean breathing in and out,

the olive trees rattling in the night wind

dry as mourners clearing their throats.