II
I walked from the harbor
to the house so many times!
One returns from church and
always something obstructs his breath
the moon, the wind
or an unnoticed shrub that stirs.
From the harbor to the house
ten, eighteen year old
Mrs. Xanthi died
the kore vanished
the old house of the crazy woman fell in.
Toward the field at night
the familiar magical landscape
spreads inside me:
acceptance and revolution
always start on my soil
Manolis 