One Drop
He has neither time nor the desire anymore,
he can’t look. He drops and raises an old, holed
bucket into the water well, he draws black
water, he pours it into the black water he already
has. The rope wears out slowly. His only fear,
now, that the rope might break and thus he might
not be able to draw black water. One drop fell
on his shoe, it shines in the sunshine; he can see
that as it grows, it grows and expands to the whole
garden, to the whole world, one drop
on the huge medlar tree leaf and the blinding,
slanting sun ray.
Manolis Aligizakis 