29th of October

We sleep a little, not enough.

The exiled snore all night long —

tired, exhausted children.

Stars, massive stars gleam outside

tired stars with rough hairs

like the St John’s head

or like our Panagiotis’

and the small frogs on the dried mint leaves.

Each day our faces are stricken by the rosy morning sun

reflected, in the simplest way, on the faraway sea,

similar to those oil paintings they sell on the stairs

          of the Arsakeio School

and, strangely, we like such a sun.

One by one, two at a time, sometimes more than two

we stop in the courtyard or on the hill and gaze at it

and this sun strikes our faces with such force

like the barefoot villager who whips

the almond trees to drop their last almonds to the ground.

Soon after, we lower our eyes, focus on our shoes,

we look at the ground. Nothing has fallen.

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