MEMORY
The wind passed through the trees’ foliage.
Sandy, remote corners of no-man’s land.
Pine trees’ truncated branches.
A glance stands against every lover,
and yet last night I heard our song
as the full moon rounded the sky
and ever since passion instils twilight and dawn on my windows.
All is damp, and the wicker chair a trap.
I sought to fall in with the lines on the horizon,
and monstrous conches tattooed your face
on my white arms.
A seagull won’t be saved by sea food,
but from your hand, as you feign throwing
breadcrumbs slowly on the whitecaps.
By Maria Panoutsou
Translated from Greek language by Yannis Goumas
Jan 7, 2017
Jan 7, 2017 at 7:01 AM UTC
MEMORY
The wind passed through the trees’ foliage.
Sandy, remote corners of no-man’s land.
Pine trees’ truncated branches.
A glance stands against every lover,
and yet last night I heard our song
as the full moon rounded the sky
and ever since passion instils twilight and dawn on my windows.
All is damp, and the wicker chair a trap.
I sought to fall in with the lines on the horizon,
and monstrous conches tattooed your face
on my white arms.
A seagull won’t be saved by sea food,
but from your hand, as you feign throwing
breadcrumbs slowly on the whitecaps.
By Maria Panoutsou
Translated from Greek language by Yannis Goumas
