I Put on a T-shirt   I got up during the night and put on a T-shirt because it was getting cold— an old T-shirt, with holes, worn thin, that I’d bought at a concert of my favourite singer.   As I waited to get back to sleep lines from his songs ran through my head—even though I didn’t want them to.   The music was soft, gentle, melodious— like a far-off wind blowing over the Aegean Sea on an island where I once stood. I pictured him playing a guitar.   He sang of love, loss, Biblical exile, the…