Gratitude
Oh, your hair that you comb
spreads around us
a forest of lemon trees.
We said: ‘what does he need it
in the stones and salinity
that choke our lives?’
Yet secretly we felt gratitude
as our defeated glance moved
along the inaccessible uphill
until it vanished in your glowing hair.
And, at night, when your hair sprang out
of your white pillow and
flooded your naked shoulders
we felt it
in our lessened loneliness.
Manolis Aligizakis 