Runoff
I have been cold
in agony waiting
for the lone cloud
and its misty dress
Where are you running, little creek,
the river rocks asked—
I’m going to the great ancestor
where you and I are not
where in its wholeness I shall melt
becoming a whiff of air
pasted on an autumn day
turning to a wish in the heart
of a young lover gazing at
the stars and longing for
his mate who’s kept high
among the gleaming eyes,
the smiling youth answered—
I’m going to the great Ocean
Manolis Aligizakis 