Επιμέλεια: Εύα Πετροπούλου Λιανού
I wished upon the wind
I wished the sky was real
Your little sentences
Thou art climbing to the spears of silence
Waiting
In the halls of a climbing circumference
Will you take me
Where you go
To the Angels on the Cliffs
To the Antlers of the World
To a world
In the eaves where blue might blind you
Where a ripe orange waits
For evening
For the swelling of the azure
To bring her haunting cellos along the cold water
And blue, it would kill you
Could it speak
By Alan Patrick Traynor
©Mar 18th 2024
