The Light Collector
To Yaro
It was only on Hvar Island I understood that the
luminous dome overhead
covers a world sufficient...
The steep crags of Mount St. Nikole falling into the
remote disk of the sea,
the black pearls of islands, the air's transparent abyss,
a white bird and the shine.
Was this what tempted Icarus.
The wine carried onto the peak brought a sense
of happiness.
I understood the pilgrim who saw this long ago
and descending the mountain drew a world sufficient
to hold God, man and butterfly.
Who needed neither the whole of the Earth,
nor the depths of the cosmos.
I stared at the island wound with a chain of walls
to prevent it from sinking and brace it to the air.
How many stones in a handful of earth,
how many handfuls of earth grow a grapevine,
how much sweat lies on a stone?
The locals say there's more blood in these stones
than they've spilled in all their battles combined.
Stones hybrids minding the tides,
stones carved into Greek battleships,
stones that warm the night.
The olive trees above them, wise and patient.
They know this world is sufficient
to make one's fate come true.
Stony Stari Grad with its white trails of labyrinths,
the drowsy monastery where God reclines,
the palms nurtured by the heat and the port's deep breath
Ithaca for the sad, for those returning from voyages,
the murmur of great cities on their shoulders.
A world sufficient
to believe once more in oranges trees,
flowering lavender, a lizard on a stone...
When the dusk rocks the boats, and the bats
softly nibble the moon
Someone cries from the taverna:
Come drink a glass of rakija!
With drops of sunshine for ice-cubes.