By Christos Tsagkaris
I met the old poet Saxtouris yesterday. He appeared from nowhere, descending a scale of clouds.
“Have you read the newspaper?” he asked. “They discovered water on a planet.” His expression was puzzled, unsure.
I flung my arms high, pointing above me. “You dreamt a vivid sky open to man. Why aren’t you happy?”
He gazed up in disbelief. “Vivid? The sky’s vivid? Is the sky open to you because brackish water was laid upon a rock?” He shook his head. “No, my friend, none of us really know these skies.” Saxtouris waved farewell, ascending on the back of a bird.
Like the twist at the end!