Port Piraeus
The very same shoes took a lonely seat on
the wing of Port Piraeus, while the procrastinating
noon wind, so calm, letting my tongue be clothed
with orange rinds down the sea of passion.
The lovely stray feline struts on heels,
so eager to be free, searching for hornpipe dancers—
hmm, those well-built tars now sailing home
on her ship laden with poetic dreams.
The very same shoes stood up
and quietly followed her,
perhaps, with a free-verse and Sapphic stanza
in his agitated steps.
Copyright © Ernesto P. Santiago | Year Posted 2008
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