Snapshot of Greece

We, lovers and lovers of history,
stand silent
in the rubble of this church
built a thousand years ago.
Shards of marble grey and white
shift beneath our weight.
We let go a long-held breath of awe.
You squeeze my hand
and tilt your chin toward the hill.
Nine kinds of green lift my eyes
to wonder.
One of the greens
is the one I find
in your eyes
at night.

I still dream of your eyes
and that olive tree
whenever it rains.