Misses
Of breaths that are not
you miss the forest breeze
while rusted nails
hold your ravaged window where
gap reveals light
Of dreams which are not
you become a missed song
while your subconscious rebels
and barnacles camouflage a mound of
words imprisoned in salt
Of the rhythms that are not
you miss one step or two
when nebula mocks:
Have a nice day – as usual
your descent sleeved in pain
Manolis Aligizakis 