Helen’s House
The trees hide the view from the window;
big leaves, thin leaves, curly, elongated;
a white plate full of fruit on the table.
A child’s bicycle, the wooden horse
among the cicadas’ songs.
What secret sequence
has raised this insignificant landscape to the level
of immortality held over the void only by a green
branch as if from a finger of a beautiful, young God?
Mayanaam
vequinox
Manolis 