i saw an orthodox priest
with sunglasses
out-poker-faced by waves
the closed eyes of the cliffs
a game of dice
shadows stretching out like pathos
saw light dangle
in the mountains’ hawker tray
gilded with copper
the village impregnable
the most bled-dry prospects i’ve ever
no one could tell me who was ahead
i sat on an ace of hearts
began
weighing myself down with olive pits
that’s how hard the wind blew
EN 
MK