2006 October:

2006 September:

Somehow there's no more darkness left at all.
I've soaked up sunlight through a thousand wounds.
and this whiteness that I cloak you in
you won't find it even in the Alps; this wind
whirls also there to the heights and the snow is stained.
Even in the whitest rose, you find a hint of dust.
The ultimate miracle is inside the person;
white meadows genuinely aglow
against the universe. The purest thing
in all creation then is not in the twilight,
nor the sky when it's reflected in the river,
nor the sun on the apple tree's blossoms.
It is love


Nikephoros Vrettakos, greek poet