THIRD KOUKOUVÁGIA OF THE YEAR

Last night I could hear
the third koukouvágia of the year
tenderly hooting somewhere east
of my avlí
This used to mean you’re ready
for another all-nighter
of spontaneous risate, poesia,
and a little of each of
the ancient Greek words for love

This morning the Mavronás triangle
is cobalt warm
almost invisible
if not for one thin blue strip
This used to mean
you’re thinking of me
and more than ready
for me to continue exploring
your southern γεωγραφία
the valleys that lead
to the waves
of foam and salt

You’ve hidden or deleted
the Cour des miracles playlist
No more playground
no more miracles
Do you still listen
to musica italiana
ogni tanto?

All symbols vanishing
all mousikí fading
your γλυκιά φωνή
and your fig-shaded laughter
an exotic memory

One of these days
in the Twanniż dictionary
I’ll find the courage to add
(arch.)
next to the noun
Twannáki

This book is almost done
One chapter left
a building to complete
my dream without a dream
bookshelves that your slender
seductive fingers
may never brush
but once you’re finally published
your book will certainly be there
sta elliniká
and maybe
bil-Malti

The door will remain ajar
at least for the musica italiana
Battiato, Cutugno, Lucio e Lucio
to slip out and travel east

— Radju Rokku, Book ζ, Κεφάλαιο Έβδομο – Asteírefti sterna