Epic

It’s you I’d like to see Greece again with You I’d like to take to bed of cyclamen You know I nurse a certain myth about myself              that I descend de tribus d’origine asiatique and am part Thracian or Macedonian cleaving to a Hellenic mystique after centuries’ migration inland a full moon rising over the Acropolis I can repeat the scene        this time à deux as then I had no one to kiss slicing halloumi amid the hullabaloo of a rooftop taverna in   July The doors that opened to lovers pulled like tree roots from darkness        I close upon us now like book covers The alcove in which we embrace is cool with brilliant tile and weirded by a dove’s note       chase of ouzo with Uzi          junta-style History makes its noise      we duck till it passes      Love we think is our due Not we think like the epoch the unchosen thing we’re wedded to