Yet only yesterday night
did I see my executioner
take off his mask
and search for my head
among the others round the scaffold.

His body was tall and shadowy
with soft-moving limbs.
Among the unasked –for dead,
an image of images.

Carefully he walked
Caressing here and there some young person's hair
stopping for a sudden thought or grief.
(who has ever read a hangman's hand...)

My veils shuddered at the touch of his fingers round my

Softly he rubbed, entreating life's forgetfulness
To deliver my eyes from that high noon's dream
And the breeze's whisper to lull the crying of my shed blood
to sleep.
Then started life and love
Love and life, after death-

  [Athens, 1965]