Many Jasons

He strolled from the hill sound of sacred scales. A sheet on his head (arrested for something), they surrounded him, Hera speaking through his mouth kept the lid on his appeal to Caeneus the Lapith, who had been a woman— moon spread on the all edge of standing water, the bleachers where they left the bodies. That was the sedgy day, invisible contagions stretching from our roof on which the fresh trails of spilled pink... to the aquatic plaza, one sandal at a time and the bottom of the room beguiled us, below the carpet covered with sand, where they used to run down the slums. Athena's oak prow, oracular, from the grove at Dodona: the team started the troika. Many leave. One went in. Many Jasons. At some point Orpheus was on that upside-down boat beneath the bridge, but now, through its hull (some planks missing), the ancestral bricks shimmer. Rare is their tide.