translated by Elena Vlastari

Sweet sweet air of the herd,
of memories the sides breathe
with the bee's herbs and the dusted
The wind blows again the wind blows again
and the deep nipples of the time of disillusion grind
The blonde horizon is moved
from the depths slowly and rises
a fresh scent of rain
the time of my childhood.

  The station, Ikaros Publications, Athens 2009