ORESTES (Excerpt)
Sacrifices, they said, heroism — and for what change?
Years after years; perhaps we have come for this
little discovery of the great miracle that isn’t called
small or great, nor murder or sin.
Everything is Eros — magic and dazzle (as mother
used to say) when the big, fleshy leaves of the night
touch our foreheads and the fruit that falls is a certain,
undelivered message, like the circle, the triangle or
the rhombus. I think of a saw that rusts in a deserted
carpentry and the numbers of houses move away
to the horizon — 3, 7, 9, the innumerable number.
Listen. She stopped.
Manolis Aligizakis 