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No distance at all, nor any white bird
to put off the dangers, dawn breaks;
I regret the lost time, said the wounded
Scorpion the flat season of snow;

and your breast, prey to the truth
noble tremors of wind in the hair
tonight the ties of love will be loosed,
tonight that same afternoon will come when you were

under the tree with the golden voices
no storms in your eyes in clear light
Hyde drank from the diamond river

fate fell in a hot hand a coin
of fine weather moist words wrapped in orgasm
the sky a sheet with no holes.

(Translated by Simon Darragh, Agenda, Greek poetry –new voices and Ancient Echoes, guest editor: David Connolly, vol.36 Nos. 3-4, spring 1999)