Idol

Who was he and where was he going? He didn’t

return after some time passed; naked as that in

the sunshine or among the oleanders perhaps

listening to the trickling of the river water. His shirt

and his pants were hanging here, on the tree branch.

The colour of the shirt and the position of his pants

had something of Antilochus’ composure. The leaves,

the air, the cicadas, the birds played with his shirt;

the heaviest grapes, deep purple and black, filled

     his pants.  

Around those empty cloths the whole area breathed

letting a void in the middle of which his body fit

perfectly, while, faraway on the opposite village, twelve

horses grazed along with the wooden horse.