The garden full of trees in bloom
spring scents, angelica, birds
crying in the still, clean light.

In the dark house behind the shutters
they were waiting
with the bread and the olives.
Marble dusted, ancient faces
with eroded eyes,
shell eyes of statues bleached by time.

At night, their shadows
on the white washed walls
breathing in silence
the scent of the white lilies
blooming in the moonlight
as if consumed with longing.