on august seven –
the poet in him said:
‘it’s now 191 months
she had died/ meaning
5841 days since her passing’.
‘who was this person?’ the man
from munich asks
and you may imagine him
quite easily converted by face
and shape of head into a clown
no wig needed
he has the perfect wreath of hair
left naturally for the task
the poet continued: ‘she was a poetess
one of a kind/ part Sappho/ part seferis/
or so she appeared to me with her work/
talented / and a great woman/
caught between her personal poetry/
her teaching/ her feminist calling/
her beauty’. he paused and rasped.
now then – the poet continued
she would have been an equal partner
for life/ and family/ if we’d met in our
late teens/ not only in virtual life.
he paused again.
‘and why ‘s august seven so important?’
the ‘clown’-man wanted to know.
‘ha!’ The poet exclaimed – ‘I had been
accepted again by greek artists
while writing my poetic journal that day’.
‘mh’ his friendly neighbour said
‘well’ the poet replied – ‘I guess she had
sent me friends and a new muse’.
‘yes. I hope to build a new artistic life
In this exciting process’.
‘good luck’ – his friend said – ‘cheers!’