Korcula
From the noon-hammered streets the darkness
Was like stepping into a deep stone wish
Or the echo of a blessing.
A tree of life trellised the chapel’s arch-
And hissed with flaming hearts,
Squinting wild men and busy serpents.
Inside, a jury of saints, knotted like old yews
Clenched their fists towards Sinai
And howled silently into bleaching winds.
We broke the water in the stoop.
It was tarn chill. Fingertips fashioned the lips
Of Christ’s kiss on our blazing brows.
Then we made the shekel slide of dull coins
Passing face over face
As we paid for prayers ...
There are approximately 366 more words in this article.
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