You carve me in the ledges of your back,
I am hiding in the bronzed hills near Marathon.
It will be a long walk back to the metropolis,
that descension towards the lower lands,
scattering the hairs of dusk,
leading to good-byes across the Aegean.
Farewell ancestors of yesterday,
today I love for you, King Minos.
I will watch blue layers unfold below and above me.
I will drop my Adam’s apple.
I will thirst.
When I see you next,
I will carve your breasts
at a banquet held midday.
Fruit in our love life drips
and I wash you with it
and drink the washings.
In the silence of a white plaster room,
white lighted by sunshine and vaporous breathing,
a dance of zygote dissipates.
The age of gods and goddesses is born, lived,
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