Cactus
The color of ageing elephant skin Long exposed to dust, sitting on a heap Of rubbish, considered dead, this cactus Bloomed after nine years. Really, a ghastly prickly leaf (One of twelve That comprise an all Encompassing system) Threw a unique deep scarlet Bloom from its far edge, So much on the periphery You might think it had its own system, As if a butterfly had momentarily lit On that spiny leaf, Declaring through its color and texture The antithesis of cactus. As for the systems in question, their disparity Held no more interest Than poetry does As an ultimate possibility of spring.
Translated from the Greek by Don Schofield
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