Years of sky. Τhe street and the sundown.
Τhe white houses are serene
like the memory that doesn’t feel sorry for you anymore.
Two poplars vanished in the dusk
two poplars
two poplars.
Healing
Hour of Song
Hour of Song
Next to the wine jugs
next to the fruit baskets
we forgot to sing.
On the evening of our separation
Στη Μαγεία Της Νύχτας
Η νύκτα σα χανούμισσα τ’ άστρα γλυκοκοιτάζει… μισό φεγγάρι πρόσωπο στους ουρανούς τ’ ανάβει… κι’ αυτά, να καίγονται για χάρη της …….ως το πρωί… που […]
Στοχασμός σε μια Πανσέληνο
Αν εκπαιδεύαμε τα νιάτα
Πιότερο για ήλιο παρά για χαλασμό
Αν στα στήθια τους επάνω
Κρεμόντουσαν μονάχα
Τα άνθη του υμέναιου
Παρά φυσίγγια της οργής
Αν περπατούσαν μέσα στον παράδεισο
Keami Maha Tahandra
In my dream last night you did appear
uttering “ Keami Maha Tahandra” in my ear.
To what end is this exotic phrase?
Are you chiding me, or is it praise?
The Sin
They left, they left – he said. They stayed – he said in a while. They stayed.
They exist.
Gullible days, wasted. And there were a few trees.
The roofs leaned their shoulders more impressively. George,
on top of the ladder, was fixing the plaster festoon
of the neoclassical house. Further down in the harbor
the longshoremen were creating a havoc. They carried
large wooden boxes tied with ropes. Two dogs
walked edge to edge in the street.
Finch’s song
If it wasn’t for
the finch’s song
he wouldn’t know
spring had arrived.
With blurry eyes
he looked through
the open window deep
into the irises of March…
Seabed
The rupture in the voice propels the course of the blood clot and at the summit there gapes the joy of the coming of another long-headed woman. Her petals folded and the necklace she bent over to grab provokes and protects her copulation far from the corncobs and velvet of the seashore.
