Matala by Night
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…
King of Kings
Here are the rocks
that jut from the ocean
in the second movement
of King of Kings…
Epitaph of a Wayfarer Poet
There remains an antique land of polished green dreams beneath a mist,
thick and clean, where great blue flutes in waves of wind sweep a waltz of Irish rain across a rocky plain, to plunder dreams in greens:
It seems-
There came a lull from seven days of Irish rain
and though my boots still wet from journey’s gain,
this antique land yet plundered my dreams and on and on…
