Published in Decimos #16
In layers white walls climb inside white walls,
the rose of Lindos blooms above green
Mediterranean waters, its petals unfolding
in spirals high into the Hellenic blue.
Through its narrow turns and crooked ways,
wild donkeys wander beside stray goats,
the same that crossed the paths of gods
who strolled these narrow stones for hours
and dawdled under skies as blue today.
By dark, the tavernas on the rooftops glow.
Buzzing beehives, they frame the night
with laughter humming down the paths
where strangers hug with strangers, kiss
and pose for any camera blinking red,
random flashes in forgotten moments
pasted, and forever lost in albums .
In the later hours, as evening withers,
but hope stays strong, still on its feet,
a voice could challenge you to follow
against your instinct into hidden paths
to find what calls out in your dreams,
a hideaway path into an inner dawn
into a life that opens late to beauty,
new wings of promise, fresh promises
cutting new paths deep into old stone.