(Zafiria Kostopoulou, 2011)
One or two traveling clouds hitched to the yoke of the wind.
They're passing by and leaving...
It's queer and heavy, the yoke of the wind.
One or two stories planted in the flowerpot of memory.
They're blooming and scenting...
It's fertile and soft, the soil of memory.
One or two steps away, an umbrella undergoes the battle for shade.
It's opening and opening...
It evaluates pensively the cost of current wages.
(written in 1997)