Blue from the bay inundates the library, her face,
obliterates the books.
Alcaeus, an old man,
holds a tattered manuscript.
Mytilene, Lesbos
| S |
uddenly, he stood in front of me, in my library, dressed in black, beard soiled, deep wrinkles underneath his eyes.
“Alcaeus, I didn’t hear you and Thasos.”
“Exekias let us in. Are you working?”
“No...sit down.”