17th DAY or ANOTHER DAY
Quietness on the first line today
only they didn’t mention how many
scorched bodies they buried in the sand.
I wondered whether the desert
rejects corpses of foreigners
like our desolate bodies.
Twilight. I read letters from
the days between the two World Wars.
Pasternak, Rilke, Tsvetayeva
correspond and kiss each other with words
not knowing whether they’ll ever meet.
Manolis Aligizakis 