By Dionissios Kollias
What can sustain the genetic blah?
The patch of tall grass and a sunspot that holds its place for a couple of hours?
It is all from your dirt stained fingertips reflected off the steel bit.
A double chain that used to hold a cross, a plastic blue bead – a bit of spit in your shirt.
Don’t worry about the fence today or the bleached palm, just watch.
It’s not the sickle or the work clothes heavy with melancholy.
This isn’t an acre of Corinth raisins.
Don’t try to look for your reflection in grape must and expect to see her.
Her flat back and her missing teeth. It’s always someone else’s land.
Oh, cheer up! Hold your wine cup close to your lips and drink.
It’s not like losing at a card game or watching your son lose his mind over a thick Kalamata olive covered with ants. Men have killed themselves here.
If you close your eyes what do you see?
Blue. A strip of beautiful blue that carried Odysseus home.
It is a midnight dream and garlic being sautéed in the apartment above.
What year are you in right now?