WE WALK under the heavy coat of someone else who walks
silently, who has no name; perhaps for this he’s truer to himself and
when we raise the cup it also hides in the secret so we don’t quench
our thirst because providence wants us to be fast, lonely, inside
a promise like the fields that in the fall go covered and only one
who leaves rediscovers his motherland since our every word shuts
a door here or a window there and what comes as dust or mistake
sits on the table. However at night anybody can be the spoken
person.
Mayanaam
vequinox
Manolis 