Go with the good. Cavafy writes we won't meet Cyclops or wild Poseidon, unless we bring them along inside, and our souls raise them up before us. One day we'll wake safe again in the village where whitewash and blue sky fill the windows, Where we go with the good and return with the good. Another day of silence between the walls. Sunday, mail doesn't come.
Morning light wakens the gaps in the blinds.
You stand at the window, wishing for a change, thinking you'd like to run away like the girl you spy down there dashing through dried grass and cypresses, with no thought of distance. But fear you won't know where to stop stops you. You see it block the door though you know its shadow is a trick you played with the darknesses. And you spend another day of silence between the walls. They ate and drank as the full moon rose over the mountains and reflected its own silver, winding streets on the water and the archipelago, distinct dark hills under the lighted sky, floated around them.