POEM BY IOULITA ILIOPOULOS
II
A difficult word to pronounce you, love
Your hand points to silence. Your hand gropes the sky in a single breath
and it spreads the shout among the little civil wars.
Your hand is a mouth, your hand a kick, that bloodies my knife. Deep sleepless
sleep, your hand on my flesh wears me, sleeps on me.
Darkness laments and strikes, your hand a baby, a beast. Your strong hand
for which I become a hand.
The love of your hand, my love.
Libros Libertad 