translated by Patricia Felisa Barbeito

How much longer does the violin need to burrow
Into the silver coffee cup
To dig up some dirt?

Angels Like eggs Are first hatched in flames Fading
like heliotropes And then Out of a chimney’s nostril They pour swarm-like Each one glues two cloud-wings on his back Follows the trail of acid rain A harp’s tears And I, who have known since I was little how to spot an angel in love Watch him play the violin For a singular love For the lovers who were turned to stone in time He holds onto the chandelier Hanging in a burnt vault Waging single combat with his bow hitting irregular notes So charmingly Seesawing On a garland’s frayed ends In a fairy tale that turned into the Rot of Affluence

I stared in surprise
As he flew blinding-bright
Using the bow to saw
His own neck

Catch he shouted
And straight at me threw
The golden ball
Of his severed head
Which glimmering with light
Was still all smiles.

 

    Angel wings, Melani pubs, Athens, 2016