Touch
As I walked in the hallway in horror I saw that the crack
on the wall was bigger and it wasn’t any longer covered
by the armour we placed before it, so I prepared my things
although I firstly had to say goodbye to that old man who
secretly came at night and told us about the infinite sweetness
of this futile world until, slowly, after so much abandonment
I was almost invisible and only the old portraits recognized me
because they were also unwillingly in the world; however,
at night, there was this touch, imaginary of course, though
at the end always victorious and I turned my eyes although
no-one was around “are you here?” I asked — what else
could I do?
Hellenic Canadian Literature 