Those who sing by the sea
draw a breeze
that lifts white wings
of foam from the deep
When Evangelia sings—
sitting at the pier, her office hairdo
smoothed just so, breasts and belly
in a swimsuit’s silky cling—
her voice is a riffle of doves
flown down from chalky cliffs
it’s the white and white
of wings above
saltwater’s wimpled hue,
it’s the poet’s covey of words
streaming along
this blue, green, blue
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