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On her balcony over the beach-caves
Mari the artist taught us to say "Basta"
as she learnt in her Italian exile
what with the military junta. Her car was battered
as if she'd scraped along the cliff-face
on the coastal road from Athens; her husband
had criticised the finance minister or someone
at a taverna on Kriti, then had a heart attack
after coffee by the courtroom
at the subsequent trial for libel. His sculptures
were in the amphitheatre they'd created;
multi-limbed, multi-framed nakeds,
and paintings in the gallery, with sliding doors,
looking out at the Aegean islands. Stained-glass windows
in leaf shapes, the island vernacular; after coffees
she said "Hurry ..." (she had blue streaks in her hair)
"... the tempest"