Evening
The children who play in the spring dusk
far away echo —
the breeze whispers and remains
in the lips of the rose petals
the open windows that breathe the hour
my vacant room —
a train coming from a foreign land
my vanished dreams
chime of bells that fades, evening that descends
onto the city —
onto the faces of people, into the mirror of the sky
in all my life right now.
VI
The neglected is the crucified soldier
the neglected one is the clock that stopped
the neglected one is the little branch that caught fire
the neglected one is the needle that broke
the neglected one is the bloomed Epitaphios
the neglected one is the hand which aimed
the neglected one is the wound that shivered
the neglected one is the kiss that got sick
the neglected one is the knife that missed its target
the neglected one is the mud which dried
the neglected one is the fever that went down
Store Window
You grasp the unthinkable
from the gap
behind your forehead or sunny
meadow and by inverting it
acquire some spasm of logic
unexpected for that place and point
the thought of my existence staring from
the store window and discovering
loneliness without the phantom of her
or something she relates to
your idol craves some discussion
as the unthinkable turns to solid
unused space between your temples
and unspent wisdom to flashy glitter in the
glass of a grocery store window
