Greece

A saltscarred face gleams brown against
Two forms of blue, the burnished head
A moon sailing in camouflage
Across such barren earth. Where
Are the spring-filled fern-tufted groves?
Have you noticed as we skirted
Then plundered the dead cones of drowned
Volcanoes how there will be folds,
In even this the most meagre
Of sky-breathing rock can be found
Openings and clefts and valleys
Where green still envelopes the ground.

This earth is nothing but folds within
Two forms of blue, a slated slipping
Of glorious gravel into the sea
But some rocks thrust and stride
And step high upon the lightening
And escaping you roll upon
Your own unfolding form, expose
Your wooded flanks and humid cracks
To the great clarity and shadows
Of tolerant, regular sun.
Daphne, goatswort, mastic, wild rose
Flower feet in the shade, face in the sun.