Aegean Heat
We look at Orpheus, torn on the ground.
We try forgiving women and his wife
For tearing at his heart and body found
Among the barren olives. This one’s life
Is deathless in the myth of love and sounds
Discarded in eternity. We seek
Forever to recover them. The grounds
And versions of the story creak.
No poetry of his is gathered. Our
Attempts replace it ruthlessly. We try
To gather it like manna but its power
Has melted in Greek suns. We see his thigh
Sprawled out in myth, but everything is lost
Of lyrics. We desire a Pentecost.