In the monastery of St. Demetrius's garden
I saw two roses cheek to cheek and I rejoiced,
as I remembered you once again-they remind me always you ...
Mostly, because they blossomed amid the stone.
They had my favorite color,
the color of the clothing of the Tibetan monks
like orange suns rising behind the sea.
And then I saw sycamores, sunflowers and colored pebbles
and a dream at noon swinging in my hammock that I would not see you again.
The heartache is indeed wrong use of imagination and memory ...
