Takis Sinopoulos
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| Now there is a mill in my bowels, it grinds the darkness of my years and I say nothing of the voices walking in my brain, nor of the river we crossed the day before yesterday, its waters flooding memory from all around - while you, you slept and centuries rolled by as I held you and was cold and wretched while my hand grew tired and withered - or suddenly, a spasm in the dregs of the soul, what did I seek, what did I hold of you? From Stones (1972) |
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| © John Stathatos, 1980 From Takis Sinopoulos: Stones, Oasis Books, London 1980. Revised 1999 & 2005. |
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