The Sea
Janine Canan
A poet is a poet at birth, before,
claims Elli, driving the coast of Crete,
even when not writing she feels
more strongly and deeply.
Sun, pounding on asphalt, flashes on the sea.
*
Couples chat in the bright cafes,
lanterns swing under starlight,
deep blue disappearing behind them,
empty roads, the water's edge barely visible,
a thin white lip of foam.
*
Wandering uphill past strangers,
white-washed houses, blue-trimmed windows,
I smell the sweet sharp scent and follow,
heart surging to cliff's edge
where rock gives way to transparency.
