Remember that battered piano room at the Student Union at ASU. The notes always a welcome lesson to the tune of the day. The moments seemed to linger like in no other place, in a darkened comfort from the desert sun they hung – musky in the air. Full and soft.
A tale of intrepid beginnings, a nap and a flowery bloom of sorts. A story that left little Pete a changed snoozer and plenty awake for the flight of fancy soon to come.
One day, not so long ago but in a place, well not really a place (as our friends here were in transit – that means going from one place to another…
What dwell amid the rows of cement collars,
astride the mounted hills stepped with sustaining grass
and winding from the Seoul of late descent
came by morning of early trained mass?…
The series entitled AT THE GATES OF GREECE were all written in 1991…
Oh veiled visage of my dreams
think not so of serious things.
Shade thine eyes not thy heart,
lest my love should soon depart.
I danced a ballet in Matala
as I watched the mountains grow…
The black sands of Perissa
spoke today
as my feet slowly sank
in the sand,
each receding wave
sliding back under the next.
A rainbow of black appears…
On Crete, the day
belonged to the sun.
I walked with sandaled Minoans
on the rocky strand by morning,
climbed the craggy peaks
to dive from Matala’s cliffs in the noon’s fiery light…
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