Bright mornings,
when the blue is magic that doesn’t fool,
growing immense with life,
swollen river with no banks, no limit,
flows forever,
and stays - eternally.
Baying on the doorstep
like a pack at close quarters,
they entered his dreams.
He spat back and growled
a low bush snarl,
as they cornered him,
then mauled the scruff
of his cowering neck,
delicate as antique porcelain,
One day hunting in the forest the king
restless for war, slaughtered a young deer.
Winds dropped at Aulis and to Troy no fleet
could sail. For the price of fair wind
the goddess named Agamemnon’s daughter,
Iphighenia, just come of age.
Paris, Nice, Cairo.
I fell asleep over North Africa,
woke hours later,
without you at the equator.
The plane rode turbulence-
like your plastic duck in water-