ψηλα την κτιζεις τη φωλια
και θα σου σπασει ο κλωνος


In young life, we scout branches, burled crooks in verdant arms,
in holes of sappy flesh, in  ephemeral jungles of spring, and  leftover sagging castles of
far away relatives, busily fashioning a nest to house love

Some, we settle content, in low-lying  Craftsmans,  in dense trunks and sturdy wood,

some in willowy slender aeries, like romantic Tudors sprouting turrets and arches and coves,

some in square, plain-sighted cradles of moss of moderne casualness, and then some, in folds of  ample twigs, a comfortable lap, simplicity's farmhouses

And few, carelessly drunk from the panorama of a penthouse life,
in  heights alone and the blue and  the wind, with no fire escape



The eggs scattered, the promise broken and the dreams,  the fading memory of a union
un blessed