Unseen dogs barking, faint smell of diesel,
bus keen and whoosh, but lovely
white haze over the gulf, the Aegean
frosty blue despite the morning warmth.

Pigeons in Aristotle Square, unintelligible
letter combos everywhere:

White-and-black gulls swooping,
a white-and-black dog walking down below.
Raven squawks, perched on the eaves above me.

Marble pillars and ledge on my balcony,
marble tile floor, wrought-iron chairs.

Motor scooter like a buzz saw.
Four barges sit in the gulf.
Blue-and-white-striped flag flutters
atop the White Tower.

Me? I'm rested and hungry,
tuning my eyes and ears for receptivity.
What does this mean? What
do I mean by this?

I'm alive.
I write because I want to feel alive,
want future readers (maybe only me)
to know that I have lived.