Wednesday

Leonard Cohen was an island (part 1)



So, inevitably,
our mountain village addresses a valley
and Mediterranean bay.
The water’s blue attenuates
and blurs the broader lines—
disturbed horizon, skies erased.

There is no border, only hue — 
reminding me of Hydra and Cohen landed there.
Romanticism maybe —
a key, a house, an island;
ten years of intensity
with loving, drugs and song.
A novel or two, then
throw your typer in the sea.

‘Bohemian’ we say;
but he found some ancient sense,
a drawing basic pilgrimage,
a riddling on this island too.
Alignment with the mode of myth
expressed in depth and light 
that rinsed Homeric eyes
in time, those eyes, all time.
Cohen was a poet after all,
he was simply tuning
those older iterations.

A mode of search perhaps, desire:
what you see you then become.
In this light,
what here can be envisioned
is not that far removed:
the past becomes the now,
the myth ascends the muse.

                                           (Cyprus 2017)

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