My own harshness pained me. I had seen him at a distance, during the ceremony, and had resented his presence; as I played my harp and sang he remained near, boggling his head.
Our sacred grove, filled with people, trees streaked with fog, was still in my mind. I could see Kleis smiling and hear the wedding chorus, the flutists, the barking dogs, the cries of gulls.
Glancing overhead, I noticed them, passing, gliding, saying with their grace things I tried to say in my writing.
Pittakos turned away.
I could not say a word but stepped forward.
“...Pittakos.”
He regarded me doubtfully.
“Yes.”
Then I started to walk away.
“What can I say? I’m old... I can’t erase errors. Sappho, I... Last night I stayed up all night...it was more than thinking: I looked at the past. I’ve been mistaken. Though we’ve lived here, in this town, we know only lies about each other...”