by Christos Polydorou

Do not speak to me, please,
of my one true recent love,
bittersweet memory,
throwing up traps,

on my way to most places.
What had I
before my one true recent love,

my everlasting love of the sea?

Peace of mind.
Now, I have peace of sea.
My love loves someone else,
and not me. Left London,

yet I am still swimming in turquoise blue Mediterranean eyes,
I can’t quite balustrade. For every perfect problem,
there is a perfect
solution. Although

love is blind,
one has the ability,
if one wishes,
to hear with one’s eyes.

I swim out of the blue from time to time,
for air to breathe;
to err is human,
to forgive is divine.

One finds what is thine.
Stubbornly, dumb luck, I will find mine.