FORGIVE me Lord that I survived since You had
secretly placed my life under a peplos
like lovers, at night, who hold someone else
in their arms
while they stand behind, in the shadow, and ah,
to tread the world is nothing but a sob.
However, under the lighted torches of the evening
let him be blessed who is ready to forget like
the farmer who throws his seed on the ground
until autumn when we light the oil lamp earlier
and all the silent people resort to words that
perhaps save us somewhere else.