Resurrection
He looks again observes discerns
through a distance that has no meaning at all
through endurance that doesn’t humiliate anymore
the moth balls in the paper bag
the dry grape leaves in the leaky pail
the bicycle on the opposite sidewalk.
Suddenly
he hears the knock behind the wall
that same one coded totally alone
the deeper knock. He feels like an innocent
who forgot the dead.
At night he doesn’t
use earplugs anymore – he’s left them
in the drawer along with his medals
and with his last most unsuccessful mask.
Only he doesn’t know this is the last one
Manolis 