translated by Elena Vlastari

And through sleep
the black wind brought
from the fog
at the mountain's stony feet
from the unique rock's roots
Yesterday the year was mother
of birth and of death
that fleetingly lifted time
I saw you river
inside the sad garden
in the endless silence
somewhere there yelling my name
My poor sun
we are all
lost in the depth
and straight into our heart
death is written
It is night
at the argent plantation
the sigh of lemonbalm
a scent of a thousand fairy tales
The insects lay asleep within the cracks
deeply protected
And a wind comes
that does not stir
does not explain
yet I feel it

  The station, Ikaros Publications, Athens 2009