At Knossos, Thinking of an Old Lover At Knossos, they had tampered with the ruins, painted the lintels red, not left them pale like what we saw at the Acropolis. I thought of you, as I gazed at frescos of the female bull-riders in their loin-cloths, bold and bare-breasted, with their jet-black hair, afraid of nothing, leaping over horns, riding the terror. All of that was quelled, our guide explained: a massive tidal wave washed over ancient Crete. Minoan life drowned in minute’s terror. Only ruins stand as a testimony to that world gone silent, language lost, its song and dance forever stilled, its poetry undone. © David W. Landrum David W. Landrum's My poetry has been publshed widely in such journals as Del Sol Review, Umbrella, Christianity & Literature and many others. He edits the on-line poetry journal, Lucid Rhythms, www.lucidrhythms.com.