Morning in Salerno, III
A large explicit earthen pitcher
(nevertheless, always amorous) painted with
fleshy light blue and red flowers stood
in the middle of the street among the busy people
So that is the answer we had sought in debates
in museums in postponements and silences?
I retain this joy attached to my flesh like a handbook to discover
a speechless affirmation amid the awkwardness of words and deeds
I held up
this pitcher with my arms I brought it to my lips It was empty
An azure and a red flower fell into my two pockets They
didn’t wilt
Manolis Aligizakis 