translated by Tzoutzi Mantzourani

Left there, on the chair
The jacket that was carrying my day.
One sleeve hanging towards the floor
Like a dog abandoned away,
That shovels with its paw, to hide
The fresh bone of its exile.
I didn’t leave inside the pockets but a few coins.
Tomorrow I’ll have to pay the fingers
That give the tickets in the river
With such chatty larks from the forest,
In every place that the fog’s instinct has passed
Putting the light on and off.
With the deep hunter’s darkness
The fox will emerge from the slippers
Bad sleep, body to body,
She smells among the covers.
They pass,some say, on top of the untrodden leaves
Those who go get their mess
Their minds back in their cardboard beds,
Could they be stolen, or messed up
From cold wind’s overcoats.
As they return to the mortgaged house
To fall asleep among the brushwoods.

  To elahisto pswmi tis sinidisis, Patakis Publications, Athens 2014