THE SWALLOW I sometimes feel that I'm sobbing in my sleep, and I can't say why, or I forget the reason when I wake up. Every time I want to open my eyes, explode in front of them, all the headlines from the papers. That I could wake from poem! Pinned down to a spot, toungless, I begin to yell, and then chant, c h a n t my poems. And at times I'm making love with someone who has no face, or I fail to remember who it was. Some of them, the dreams, go back to childhood, the war hasn't broken out, my mothers still living and all people I know haven't yet left the land. These dreams hark back to a distant time, beyond memory... Then, suddenly, I'm flying somewhere in my sleep f l y f l y f l y i n g, I'm flying. But I can't tell where I am. Which city? Which room and which bed? Should I lie on my right or on my left and whose dream-language should I use when I answer their questions? I'm getting confused about the birds in the sky : Was it a turtledove? Nooo, a lark may be, a swallow yes it was, it was a swallow, I know, there on the verandah of our home in Lefka... [what? did I say our h o m e ?] Sometimes I find myself sobbing in my dreams.