THE EIGHTH DAY
B
Dance of the water with kerchiefs of myrtle and
the green steps of the forest
erased the marble letters of graves and
the lines of Fate in our hands
these and wheat ears
as they shoot to the gleam
of gold mines and
fountains laying their hair
onto the feet of the morning vesper and
the hymns of free from fire skylarks
Manolis Aligizakis 