POSTCARD FROM XANIA, CRETE

Threads float across my mind

like wisps of cloud making

their stately procession across

this infinite blue Grecian dome.

Now golden arms of the harbour wall

enfold small boats and pleasure craft

where once emblazoned Venetian ships

sailed triumphantly to claim the land.

At noon, tourists like ants drawn

inexorably to sugar, file busily

from the ancient town to fill

the chic waterside tavernas.

My cue to rise and wander alone

the maze of narrow streets and

alleyways, where cerise arches

of bougainvillea link balconies

offering sweet shade from the

blistering midday heat

cicadas sleep, cats drowse

in shady doorways -

Nothing stirs.

Crumbling walls of once-proud

buildings fill my camera's eye

shutters and doors with peeling paint

stand like patient beggars in rags.

Turning a corner my eye is caught

by a splash of yellow roses in a

blue vase on a table by a shady wall

with one rickety chair

I sink there

and absorb an oasis of silence.