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.