iphigenia

birdsong fills the air,
the chee-cha, chee-cha,
chiffchaff song, the binary pulse
of this sullen, summer’s day.
dog roses and humming flies
sing and dance and fill the broken
summers skies,
while other unknown,
unnamed voices
sing out brave and loud,
and brave and loud,
and steal the time away.

is that a blackbird in the hedgerow hush?
a throstle singing from the hawthorn bush?
for me it is forever the lost singing
of the rhyming greeks,
the running beauty of all that seek
the flying fury of the summers air.
the bacchic pursual of fated pentheus
to his bloody, fatal lair.

euripedes.
how can i read you when my heart is breaking?
is there not sorrow enough in this god-abandoned world?
every move i make is destruction of some other,
some precious other, of the earth, or of another,
who think they love me, but never knew me,
in all my all-consuming selfish, self-serving desire.

iphigenia,
i hear your name in black and white,
from a tongue thick with prayer and weeping,
and aulis’ ancient antique mourning.
iphigenia,
lead to the altar of anothers foolish sacrifice,
if achilles could not save you,
how can i?

the prospect of the sea;
the olive grove hanging above the wine-faced sea,
lesbos, of the ancient silver growing,
of the ancient sapphire olives blowing,
above the ever breaking,
never ending, friendless sea.
to light a fire upon the dawn.
upon the even, the straw and sheep scat dawn
and lie down,
die down upon this forgotten,
bankrupt,
god-abandoned shore,
is that not enough?
is this not sacrifice enough?
is that not what you want?
what you need? my always virgin,
attic queen?
to be satisfied, sated at last
with this poor, life-enmeshed,
fate-entangled mortal?
artemis?
virgin,
huntress,
goddess,
bitch.

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