WEAVING ESPARTO GRASS

 

As solitary people weaving 

esparto grass by the moon

I weave this words by my self. 

Weave and weave into a basket

with no other aim but the beauty

 of words themselves

crafted together like the ropes

 in demijohns of wine.

I weave this words on and on.

 I am a basket case 

of wine still sipped by Sappho

 just about to embrace Phaon

near the Leucadian cliffs.