After we leapt deftly onto the ferry
we cleaved a path to the big island
where ice cream stands and cafés
court the foreigners with a forked tongue.
Before disembarking, the seagulls dove
at the pieces of food we flung at the whitecaps
and they would rise over the banners to the church
where they might wait on the roof for us.
Two hours into renting bikes
and we swerved carelessly around grazing cows,
airing out the summer clothes we remembered to bring,
racing Germans just here for a football game.
Two in our party rode a tandem, one rider
pulling the amateur tilting like tall buildings on the sand:
this ride led to a marriage, a child,
their first months hidden around corners.
Five of us climbed boulders at sunset,
found a dog that panted secrets to us
hidden among monoliths like the ones at Nemrut:
the giant busts of ancient kings.
Time pulled away from us during the mauve sunset
and the evening bike ride pulsed gravel:
our cascades around bends in the dark
made us invincible.
Kevin is a product of Ohio and has lived there for most of his life -- except for brief stints in England and Turkey. He's currently in the Cleveland area where he is ESL Coordinator at the Cleveland Institute of Art. His poems can be found in Silver Birch Press, Rise Up Review, The Rising Phoenix Review, and others.