8. Tatiana Naturova Among Seeds Poem by Christos R. Tsiailis

Tiny brown particles of life,
leftovers of a child’s cookie feast in a plate,
some wet cotton.
I am one of these seeds,
I saw the white hand who spread us in the yellow plates,
I saw the black hand who wetted this white stuff,
the blowing of a happy mouth’s tell-tale pushed me to sink in this lethargic anteroom
and lose purpose and proportion for a century.
The Dark Philosopher has run a finger through the sand
He – split - eternity – in - half,
I must start the gears again,
some more water, Mr black hand, if you please.