It's clear the boy won't come again
to visit me in Athens,
for he is now a man,
and has a woman of his own;
he has no need to roam the ancient
precincts, young colt with his dam:
we shall not set out again
for Marathon.
A chill wind blows
through Schliemann's garden,
legends come undone:
'It's possible that no one
carried news from Marathon.'
Revisionists cite smoke signals,
but after this long thralldom
to dreams I took for certitiudes,
the stories in the stones,
I must believe in marathons
as one who is foresworn
keeps faith; the way another
might believe in unicorns.
Marathon and unicorns
© Copyright: Jena Woodhouse, 2011
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Свидетельство о публикации №111101106439
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