Jan/Feb 2020 • Vol. XLII No. 1 Of Today |

Sfakiá to Loutró

In the morning the goats were saying hey hey hey from the maquis and later, in the evening, they were saying ha ha ha from the boat, the raw cliffs of southwest crete and a little tiny cloud like a thin handkerchief, worn to diaphaneity, clinging to the black jaw of a cave what turquoise lapping & ribboned like a band along a girl’s hair like no time the girl is now or the girl is ancient and therefore dead but remembered in stone or clay just as she was born into a history she didn’t make and then continued making it she died in time and out of it and minnows like apostrophes, asphodels hanging, darting in the clear water

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