The Cypress Trees of Mnemosyne

In the morning, the blithe village plunges into the Ionian Sea,
Taking along the archaeological ruins,
Night with its black wings,
Night which for the first time has birthed a wind egg
(such were the words of wretched Aristophanes)
And the white cypress trees of Mnemosyne.
From the window I cherish, obsessed,
This eccentric dream with sunlight in my eyes.

[Qiparisat e Mnemosynës, from the volume Last Exit to Bukura Morea, Castrovillari: Il Coscile, 2003, p. 18. Translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie]