I
The angel,
We had waited for him for three years, concentrated
closely examining
the pines, the seashore, the stars.
Joining the blade of the plough or the ship’s keel
once again, we searched to discover the first sperm
so that the ancient drama might recommence.
We went back to our homes broken-hearted
with incapable limbs, with mouths ravaged
by the taste of rust and salinity.
When we woke, we travelled to the north, strangers
driven into the mist by the perfect wings
of swans that wounded us.
During winter nights, the strong eastern wind
maddened us
in the summers, we got lost in the agony of day
that couldn’t die.
We brought back
these petroglyphs of a humble art.
Manolis Aligizakis 