for Dan and Chrissie Anthony

When you dance Greek-style,
you wave a handkerchief,
the foot stomps, a necklace of islands
rises in the blood.
Moving through days,
the shadow of this circle
stays with you.
Outline of a wheeling fish
that says you are less alone
than you like to think.

At the grill, shrimp curl perfectly
on sticks. A sleek woman with a bow tie
strokes her husband’s hand.
What have we in common?
Grandmother spooning honey-puffs
smiles at anyone, Here child, eat,
fortify yourself or the journey
between homes.

Floating heart, who knows
which hand is on which arm?
Whether any story begins or ends
where we say it does
or goes on like a circle,
common sea between stones and lamps.
In the villages of Greece,
windows light up, eyes.
Children carry things in baskets.
A basket sits on a floor.

I heard of an orchard where statues grew up
between the roots of trees. Stones were men,
one trunk had feet. I heard of an island
where snails rose from the dirt
and saved the people, who were starving.

Tonight there is no ocean
that does not sing. Even sorrow,
which we have felt and felt again
in all our lands, has hands.