translated by John Taylor 

Under the light of a lunar night, a silent man bends over and draws cards from a deck.
His face has the intent look of a card player, yet the man, lost in his calculations, is dwelling,
with the greatest discretion, on the next day.
Is it maturity or coincidence that has pushed me near him, during this stroll in the depths
of a city belonging to him?
Scattered words, transgressions, throbbing heartbeats, widespread disorder, and then
She who slaps me in the face crudely and pathetically, biting my lips, yet seeking what?
“Mother,” I stammer, exhausted, “it’s not my fault if I have lost my way in a red fog. Look!”
An astonishing assertion of self.

  Agria Angeliki Photia (Wild Seraphic Fire), Agra Publications, Athens 1997