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I can see, you are holding up as high
you can this night, the red lotus flowers
didn’t get washed — at the flush of the fourth
drink, with bare shoulder showing you take oath

to be always you, better when the moons
shine, unarmed in the grip of time, ready
as when moving up and down layers
of bodies, to turn yet again iron

into cotton. Or silk. Deep, unfinished
kiss finally wiping out any right
to forget, leave your shirt now open,

to the harsh truth of time (how long will you
hold out, will you stay sharp like the dawn song,
like the earth’s view in the astronaut’s mind?)

(Translated by Ioanna Tachmintzis, Greek Letters, a journal of Modern Greek literature in translation, 16, 2003-4)