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WEASEL AT THE SPRING

she takes another sip
she was parched dry these last few days
she stoops to better smell the grass
the view looks somewhat out of shape
she has now learnt to fear the sky
more than the valley’s trodden earth
and hides herself behind the rock

but then the shots pierce as the gulps

for once she did forget to count
carefully
ad the shadows.

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