On a perfect day for journeys,
Sun is making love to Earth
in air cerulean, translucent,
far away a cirrus pod
floats like dolphins on a Delphic cup.
On such mornings I've a mind
to ask the light to scour the skies
for Pegasus, and bridle him
with reins of blue infinity,
leaving AcroCorinth's bluff
to soar above the narrow gulf,
alighting on the Phaedriades'
mammoth and prehensile rock
whose heart is hived and honeycombed
with grottoes, caves, candescing drops
that harden into stalactites and stalagmites,
echoing beneath the feet
of shepherd women leading flocks,
plying coarse yarn, agile needles,
while their belled beasts, goats
and sheep, forage amid cyclamen
and oregano, nose and crop.
On such mornings,
spirit seeks the eagles
and Pan's lichened rocks,
pines contorted by the gales
off ultramarine Corinthos,
stunted and recumbent where the wind's
thrust targets bony snowline,
giving way to cypress as the heights
decline to Delphi's shrine,
and bee-enamoured rosemary
around the house of Sikelianos.