Flying.

Conjugation

I want to walk

with you through parks,

for your laugh & blue sea

for the boats.

For red moon,

black dress,

wide widow.

Omonia Square,

tambourines.

For buses

& the sellers

of peacock feathers

& for the rain.

I did not think

I would see Greece

again. But I do

see. & hear the gypsies

playing clarinets

& violins.

& hear gypsies

dancing in the streets.

Tonight,

I will write poems

in a cold house

with an open oven.

I will think of Crete,

its wild oregano

& trees punctuated

by apostrophes of figs.

Every thing

will be magic.

The night will be black

& the stars will fall.

The moon will be a lantern

in the blackness.

You will be

a fisherman

or a net.

& I will be

a herd, of birds,

that body in the sky, there,

flying.

Aracelis Girmay