Little Moments

Greece, 2024

sunlight cracks open the kitchen,
the hour left quiet and iridescent.

bowls of stone fruits and berries,
untouched. the world submerged
in exaltations, and murmurs.

here, we rest our palms on the sand
and become salt-sick, wanting to
love this beginning and the inevitable ending

at the sidewalk by the beach, a toddler runs past me:
her head covered with a bandana, daisy-patterned,
her fingers sticky with the half-melted ice cream.

these roads, they keep stretching into
forms of home bakeries, white villas.
and around it all, bougainvillea blooming,

we return with a box of baklava
and spanakopita by afternoon.
our legs tan, and tired.

and under the dark blue sky, the people shift —
flowing bodies, curling into a wave.