I-catcher Console – Web Monitor Street

Ionian

Walk! Among olive trees and larches

of my bare land.

Sometimes
exploding flowers of clover and a tooth lion;
steal glory to old olive trees.

Gabbiani
alight in flocks on the hills
at rest or perhaps away from a sea
buckwheat and mother.

Among its froth
you get caught.
banish that thought, insolent dog lay

fresh air of incense
the village church, lit by windows
tired.

Meeting my tongue, made up of sobs
Arab
sounds Greek and Albanian, Italian

barbaric and dilated expectations. How

vessels
or dry mountains of pines and oaks
was waiting,
me or anything.

And every stone of the sea is holy,
shouting "Remember."
Memory is a stoning
a diminished reality. At this

Ionian severe

I can confess that I'll have to go and it does not offer
offended smiles.