Spring Longing
He was startled by a bloomed tree in the unkempt park.
The maid with the sailor on the bench.
The open horse carriage in front of the suburb
bus station.
Haven’t that longing and indeed the trust
got tired?
Surely the young girl in the opposite house
had climbed on a chair to hang the light, white
curtain. She didn’t hang it. She stepped down.
She stopped in front of the mirror and touched her
breasts.
The curtain looked elsewhere, with one
shoulder leaning to the side as if waiting for her
other hand to touch the other shoulder.
Manolis 