Whispered in the evening,
Your voice resounded in passing fire of Jacarandas
Above azure waters,
Ravens piece together a darkness of October,
Mapping light years of a futile sleep.
Under jasmine and olibanum skies,
Violet clouds of dusk
Carried your boat of exile
Over the dream’s plagiarized passage.
You will die again in Greece.
Our hours will return,
And cascades of autumn crocus
Will weep all night along the Plaka.
Stars in clusters of fatal pink colchicums
Burned over carbon-dated texts of your lost words.
It was a future that was always past.
Whispered in the evening,
It was waiting in a long silence of failing color –
It was a short space of resounding years –
It was what remained,
As your voice receded to silence under quiet fire of Jacarandas.