Everything, O monks, is burning.
The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece,
where we’ve obtained on credit cards
one tapestry of silky fleece,
two icons, three amphora shards.
Two noble truths: That life is pain
and that our cravings are the cause.
But here we’ve all grown young again
and laughter routs the cosmic laws.
On Delos, once a treasure town,
gray lizards flick the drying dust
where once ambitious Greeks burned down
in anger, ignorance and lust.
Our ocean-going steel cocoon
spins out the silk of innocence.
Only the water and the moon
bring whispers of impermanence.
The sun melts down in summer gold
like Strega in a cocktail glass.
The moon and moon-drawn tides are old
and, like the Myrmidons, will pass.
We build up shelves against the tide:
our luxuries, our work-out tapes.
But slowly we burn down inside
and find there are no fire escapes.
About the author
Gail White does her writing in Breaux Bridge, Louisiana. Most exotic travel adventure: taking part in a Hindu wedding in Hyderabad. Latest book: Easy Marks,…Read the full bio
Issue 02 · December 2008
Table of contents
- From the editors
- Postcard Prose
- Travel Notes