as I carve the wood
fetch the kid,
sew the blouse,
take the red broom out of its box ...
I have a sledge that drives me through the glaciers
as I pick the sparrow,
tie a love around its neck
and flee -
... the clouds in the dreams ...
And yet, I do not know which wave is my guest tonight.
I will wait for it in the woodpecker's hut.
A few sustaining drinks later,
We will walk down the garden path
and climb the stairs to the centre.
At that era of being,
I will name the wave, christen it
with the dark waters of the cesspool.
Till that elevation I must wait
carving my wood, like Sisyphus in his dreams.
Image: by self; Mytilini, Lesvos islands, Greece 2010.