The Body
The body between the hands — history and music, word
and deed — oh, stone limbs and the wall, he said, the
wall; horse riders passed outside; the spurs shone in
the night gleam, the smell of the horses remained and
the air of their leave stirred the corner of the tablecloth
a little, and the only flower. We had to find the continuance
in things indifferent to us when the colourful lights of the
display windows were turned off and if there was something
beyond death, it was exactly that slow and pale colour
that rose from within death.
Manolis Aligizakis 