Takis Sinopoulos
If
All morning the wind clawed at the sky.
All morning the sun smoked
among the ruins.
If your face, that shield-like face, and that cloud and
the landscaped country, and your eyes swivelling
suddenly had not killed the image at which they had
gazed just before.
If your eyes had been.
If your eyes.
If your hand.
If the word you were about to speak.
So, all day the wind.
All night the ashes of your fire.
Translated by John Stathatos
Page(s) 43
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