The sea is purple at Piraeus. Poem by Erik Lindner

A flag creeps out of the campanile
when the wind turns.

A man steps over a dog.
A woman stoops to rub her eyelid.

In an umbrella shop an umbrella falls off the counter.

A pigeon perching on a narrow branch
falls off, flutters, and settles again.
The berry out of reach at the end of the twig.
The branch that bends, the ruff that bulges when the pigeon shuffles along.

A girl gets on the metro with a desk drawer.

On the thick sand by the breakers
an angler slides his rod out horizontally
a bike beside him on its kickstand.

He stands with legs apart as if he's peeing.
Birds' footprints in the sand.
The rod arches over the sea.