ROMIOSINI
They sat under the olive trees in early afternoon
sieving the gray light with their big
fingers
they took off their cartridge belts and measured the
anguish fitting the path of night
how much bitterness fits in the wild mallow’s knot
how much courage in the eyes of a shoeless child
holding up the flag
Past its time the last swallow remained in
the plains
weighed himself in midair like a black band
on the sleeve of autumn
Nothing else remained Only the burnt up
houses smoldering
Manolis Aligizakis 