On the street of Athens
live, dying, dead, is lying
on the ground, eyes wide open
and watching, watching it fall
with lightning, wind, husks of trees
down from the night sky.
This celestial and terrestrial war
fire and water, stun them,
with power, and a light
knocking on the door of Hades
the sink of hope, and savagery
worshipped by the void
collides and sparks
and blasted into a million pieces
devoured and digested
in its own trap.
A soldier is wandering
in this dark labyrinth
but he must have lost something
in the white and red behind.
He steps into the ruin, searches, back and forth
and stops in front of a dead man
closed eyes, on his white cloth, a bloody coin.
He hesitates, takes it, and talks to himself
“Even Charon won't come back.”
He tosses it into a tinkling sack
like stealing a red moon
from the silky sky
and letting it be blue for the day.