Consolation
Our memory was burned in the adoration of her body.
Buttocks made of honey; we understood we couldn’t
divulge our secret preparations while we expected another
misfortune to occur. Ticking of clocks lingered between
bay and peninsula, tide that raised all our hope, little
jasmine flowers, fragrant nuptials twice experienced.
Heart beats, anticipation, until the new gathering was
announced and we run to welcome Him, the one who,
like a myth, sprouted from the roots of our ancestors.
Our enemies died of anxiety and we based all our
new joy on our enraptured premonition.
I like those with overflowing souls who forget of themselves
and everything is enclosed inside them because all together
will cause their self-destruction.
Manolis Aligizakis 
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