The windmills of Hydra
sit like sinister spiders,
the great Peloponnese Coast
casts its shadows
while a Turner sun reflects
the Saronic Gulf as I
drink my morning coffee.
Donkey bells call to evening
below the monastery,
one man Greek,
one Italian woman
take a wheelbarrow
down to the water.
The windmills of Hydra
spin like sinister spiders.
A Greek salad for Madame Maria
with tomatoes, cucumber, olive,
feta cheese and greek coffee,
the cicadas sing that we live
among brothers; meanwhile
the windmills of Hydra
sing like sinister spiders.