Where the huts were before

a palace was erected

by your back and by your hands

reckless, useless gypsy.

Here is the unused, the uncut

marble calling your hands

careless gypsy carries it

to your shop and chisel it

craftsman builder I learned

my panting chest; new and

from the soft work of my hands

the rough marble took its shape

as I stooped my poor body

to erect a single column
I got to know the heaviest

the anguish of matching and

on the airy scaffold, I walked

for another kind of job

I stumbled and I tripled

the vertigo froze me as well.

My hand worked all over

on ebony bed covers

and crystal partitions, on

forged steel attachments

and all stony tiled floors

decorated to their expanse

by a multitude of statues

the big gates and the guards

the gargoyles and mermaids

for all visitors the four-folded

glories, arms and crowns,

the purple columned stoas;

there, painters resurrected

the ancient, golden battle

of giants; and the wide-open

windows with their colourful

frames and shining glasses

adorned the sun rays of fountains

lighting bolts of gleaming eyes.

And all alabaster and enamel

and the four-layered walls

(all of them, oh Logos, put on a line).

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