Notes About The Poem
Image source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Loutro-Agios_Stavros-04.jpg
You were
You were a white church on a white hill against the sky,
a flinty field that gave forth intense olives and pungent grapes,
a statue of an ancient god bathed in starlight,
the blur of a blue moth merging into the night,
a ship bearing concubines and incense to a barbarous khan,
a wild rose rooted in the frigid veins of the mountain.
But now you are emptiness, absence, void,
a forgotten text in a language that never existed,
the arid mockery of an abandoned bakery,
the currency of a ruined nation,
the dry and withered stone of perished fruit,
the silence that grips the killing floor after the final scream.
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