The night before, I swam in the rocky side of the Aegean,
where I needed a hand to balance back to shore.
There was that one stone in the middle of the bay
where we met after a glass of homemade wine.
I put a few stones in my pocket for remembrance,
and thought about all the things I do not know.
On our way back up the gorge, each turn of the road
revealed a different prize. At one, brightly hued bee boxes.
The next—a grove of fig trees creeping past my line of sight.
A miniature candlelit monastery at the last—with someone’s prayer
still tucked inside.
The far off tinkling of goat bells reminds me now
that I had no idea what the next night
would gift me.
Agios Nikolaos
Published
The Failures of a Non-Performer 