chaos

how they travel,
like soft river fish
glittering in chaos.

they could not
distinguish whom
I carried tonight or
who’s been there
years now.

All green
with shining
lively flesh.

their juice
circulates tirelessly
singing.

mmmmmmm

ease

deadened sky

leafs jostling for an inch
of light, weaving trunks and
the reserve of distant whispers

peaks

peaks lost in nothingness.
landscapes slip away in
an oily smoothness.

Traces of gratitude

Although They Are

by Sappho

Although they are
only breath, words
which I command
are immortal

TO ONE WHO LOVED NOT POETRY

by: Sappho

HOU liest dead, and there will be no memory left behind
Of thee or thine in all the earth, for never didst thou bind
The roses of Pierian streams upon thy brow; thy doom
Is now to flit with unknown ghosts in cold and nameless gloom.

This English translation, by Edwin Arnold, of ‘To One Who Loved Not Poetry’ is reprinted from Greek Poets in English Verse. Ed. William Hyde Appleton. Cambridge:

The Riverside Press, 1893.