Maggie

At the entrance lights and raises, a candle for drinkers and vagrants, her youngest suffers that way, in Piraeus there's a convent, behind the lip of alleyways, where the cruise ships frequent, she passes through them in a daze, to a tree lined oasis, far from that tourist game, hears maritime hooter’s advent, what do you expect anyway, sun, wine and sea beats sense, encouraged by a daughter’s praise, she knows no one’s to blame, they enjoy what they pay, she smells in momentary instant, the monastery’s sweet gaze, a loving darkness from within, she kneels to ancient names.