Poetic Movements

Your face lapses in obscurity an oblivion as soft as the cigar’s smoke surrounding me. Even when I let myself fall the memories dive deeper and I am running out of oxygen inescapably returning to the shore. All the castles I’ve climbed to raise their walls keep ing me inside a distance expanding each time before once again I fall. I trace your movements on the pebbles as the sea grows deeper and darker, and the more I become her the less I have the words to write or the memories to recall. Summer ends leave me bare of words or even of feelings for any language I try to write in fails repeatedly  to reach you. All but a castle’s distant view eventually escapes me – like words once said and instantly forgotten. August 2020, Samothraki. Photograph: the castle of Samothraki – moon over the southern tower; 25 Aug. 2020.  

  I stayed my veins pumping my body ageing waiting. You stayed your veins pumping your body ageing waiting. The swallows flew in rounds the same months each year every time above our heads always departing together. And we stood waiting. Spring – summer 2020, Athens. Photograph: Young swallows in their nest, Athens; 18.06.2020.

  Where is this place where home doesn't feel like home and memory evaporates. All neat and tidy as it should looking inside from the outside; but a closer glance and the walls are rotten the floors falling apart the chandeliers ghostly and hovering. As dust settles submerging all surface in it unsettling remains my sorrow; for it lost its shelter. Samothraki, 17 Aug. 2020. Photograph: Desert houses, Ch ó ra, Samothraki; 01.08.20.

Τι κι αν τελειώνει ο κόσμος; Εμείς είμαστε ήδη στην άκρη του. Κήποι, 4 Αυγούστου 2020.