new old kid on the blog,
with an occasional
old or new poem written off
the old writer's block
For no reason I can articulate, this moves me, Vassilis. Must be the music—how it calls us into those branches. I hear Sappho and Anakreon in the shadows of it...
Ladies and Lords of the ancient skies, let me exist, for one milli-moment, as a drip on one of those extended silver-white branch-tips... and then release me.(Back into ordinary mortal dripdom? No! Give me cryogeny, or give me frosted breath!)Love the "touch" (and taste) of this one, Vassilis.
Joe and Tom,No, permit me to be moved by these touching mortal comments. I extend my thanks.ps. In case you're curious, we had more of the same heavenly cleansing rain the day after.