In the mind we are able,
like an axe’s final stroke in the trunk of a tree,
to change all memories of a time
that we’ll no longer recognise any more
as our own.
But out of this one thing at least must be saved:
the light of a single evening, the gesture of a caress,
the brilliant heat that follows a kiss
on the lips.
As Alexander did with Thebes:
he pulled down that hostile city, stone by stone,
but he left standing
Pindar’s house.