Who other than death claims us? Who for pay commits injustice?
Life is a chord
in which a third sound interposes
And it is this sound that actually says what the poor man throws away
And what the rich man collects: caresses of a cat well-woven osiers
Wormwood with capers evolutionary words with one of their vowels
short
Kisses from Cythera. So with such things ivy
Takes hold and the moon grows bigger for lovers to see
In what
Ioulita's blue
it is possible for you to read the gossamer of fate
Oh! I have seen many sunsets and walked along the diazomata of many
ancient
Theaters. But 0 beauty time was never lent to me
For it to win a victory against blackness and to prolong the extent of
love so that
Our inner lark can warble more brilliant more euphonic
From its own pulpit
A
scowling cloud which a bare "no" lifts as if it were fluff
And then it falls again and you get your
fill fill fill
of rain
You become the same age as the untouched without knowing it and
You and your girl cousins continue tickling one another in the garden's
untrodden depths
Tomorrow a passing musican will sprinkle us with nightflowers
But nevertheless we shall remain a bit unhappy
as usually with love
But an heretical taste ascends from the mastic or the earth's clay
Half of hatred and dream half of nostalgia
Ifwe continue to be perceiveable as men who
Dwell beneath domes speckled all over with emerald tritons then
The hour will be half a second past noon
And the absolute perfection will be
completed in a garden with hyacinths
Whose withering was removed forever. Something gray
Which a single lemon drop clears up in which case
You see what I meant from the beginning being engraved
With distinct typeface
in
Ioulita's blue.
Translated from the Greek
by Jeffrey
Carson and Nikos Sarris
