Lydia awaits,
baptized at the riverside;
she invites us, “Stay.”
At Thayati’ra,
we sleep atop purple goods,
feed on simple breads.
“Strong heart, it’s farewell.”
He’d have liked you, my sister,
as I, most beloved.
Back at Sam’othrace,
I think of her, still smell her;
she is not like me.
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
Alphabet City 
Very nice. I learned a lot from this poems terminology. Thank you. 😀
Thank you Evolpeac for your thoughtful comment. It was an interesting time and place. —–Chagall