The odeion's fragmented shell perched high above the sea.

We waited there all afternoon to hear the wind,

but nothing stirred: a solitary bird, a wren

piped among dry lilac twigs; some goatbells clinked

like stray notes from a xylophone;

cliffs reaffirmed the turning tide's eternal

tryst with gravity. We promised, in the muse's cochlea,

to honour poetry, to love as only poets love,

to leave each other free

poet's biography ->