Eight o’ Clock
Eight o’ clock
a vacant chair
stars half dimmed
your insistence in filling
the void with hope persists
brightly lit vessel divides bay
your unbearable insistence
as the hour shifts to anxiety
when fragrance of sea
fills your nostrils, your assertion
in filling the sensual void with
spent dreams and myths
long-gone, unbearable
as the first cricket arrives
stroking the comb of spring
Manolis Aligizakis 