The Road
Even glory is a road – he says –
it is the breaking of the road and also the bridge
there where you lay the basket with the bread
the knife and napkin on the ledge
in an obvious spot and you hide
behind the wall late at dusk
waiting for the first passerby to eat his dinner
to look at his teeth to see his appetite to hear
the sound of crumbs falling off the cliff
as he wipes his lips (or your lips?)
with the reverse side of his palm with
no effort to unfold the white napkin
Mayanaam
vequinox
Manolis 