VI
Olive tree sings its hymn to the shredded
shade as the slave’s blood weaves
another sunlit mark in the bird’s
flight path; the achieved fanning
perception of the corn fields that
mysteriously wave their arms laughing
in the purple dusk becomes an apparition.
The poplars keep the last light
from the sharp edge of the knife when
the metal bore spits out fire at the
speed of light. Troglodyte machinates
his enemies and maneuvers his raised fist
against the sparrow’s heart which struggles
at the mirage of evening and at the heat
of the sun at high noon before the arrival
of the shadows. Troglodyte raises his arm
before the clouds and at the sigh
of the pious beasts having their dinner
in the heavenly garden of nature.
Manolis Aligizakis 