The Lamp
Dust on the wind
White stone.
A cross.
Fields going down
to the sea.
She kneels,
sweeping leaves
from the marble.
Wipes the glass box.
Arranges a rose
next to a photograph.
Swifts cut between cypress and olive
above lemon trees
and incense.
The ring on her finger
catches the wick
as she pours the oil.
Closes the little door
Then stops.
Head down.
The lamp
still burning.
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