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
They left, they left – he said. They stayed – he said in a while. They stayed.
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.