I The Stranger
lengths of void
in which the stranger moved
he travelled through the house
wearing your features
tuned the air
played on it
that rang like a bow being drawn
turning to gossamer
only your hands
out of memories
II Farewell Party
Odd figures we waited in the landscape
among the shrubs
the sun hot on the gravelled paths.
In the trimmed lanes we approached
moths flying closer to the flame.
What temples they had built for the guest!
The waiters were in black
ran about with adequate faces.
The singer wore a cassock and sunglasses
spoke in false accents
stood at the door and shook hands
wished us a happy life.
All the cut flowers were on the lawn
lying side by side in their cellophanes
we carried them away, unwanted,
to leave the place clean
for another farewell party.
The road went higher
the temple was empty
in the hollowness of the windows
black veiled women appeared
their heads outlined in the
ashen light against the chimneys.
I hit them back with the flowers
they disappeared — came again
stubborn, stalking the game.
Why did I have to carry the burden
of all these stalks
dying in my arms
my shape was going from me
while I watched it.
© Antigone Kefala