i soak in the last sunbleached afternoon    the barren olivetreed country permeates my skin my bones as i walk slowly to the side of the dusty track pebbles press the sides of my sandals and indent my feet    the bus will come soon

i wait    others wait    they are poor people their children their hens their grandmothers in the black of mourning    under the shade trees we share succulent fresh figs    they drip juicily down arms and faces we speak they in greek me in english    we understand one another we go to the town and some to the ferry