In Lycia a man takes her hand.

And leads her from the curve of the beach.

Pulling tendrils from her feet,

The sea beading in her hair, a strand

Breaking into millennia.

She clings to him beneath his coat,

As he leads her from this open place, from those

Who remain, their faces cracked to dream anew,

The closing dusk of a land of man.

Over moors and valleys and shadows fought,

A home as rough as his hands.

An oak close by from where he glasses the land.

Of sea and sky that fuse entire,

Of  clouds that seem to swallow clime.

The tin roof drums with sudden rain.

He wraps her in his arms as he asks her name.

Her shivers, all moments of night and day,

These rags are burnt without delay.

Her iris fathomless, Sibylline.

Their freckles align, her cradled spine.

Winged feet dart through time.

Fingers bound and palms concealed,

Words whispered only Chimera hears.

A beast that only sees itself.

Of flesh and blood already known.

They skate white streaks on a black-ice pool,

Hands smeared with clay, bloodied torso.

Kick and faint throb and sign of thumb, of tiny mouth.

The dust from the earth, no gust from above.

He eased from her, wrapped like a child.

He stood by the door and looked at the surrounding hills,

Through the rising sun he knows his panacea sought.

Their sharpened teeth, their stomachs empty.

Love and shelter more a dream than memory.

Eyes cataract as the sky.


2 thoughts on “Chimera

  1. Oh what is that smell
    Which comes from below?
    Like sweet sweet rum
    And stale feet.

    I climbed out of bed
    And followed my nose.
    Passed Esther’s room
    Quiet on my toes
    I crept downstairs

    Oh what is that sound?
    From behind that door.
    Like a big cat purring
    Or a foghorn.
    Is it snoring?

    On tenterhooks
    I push open the door.
    My eyes water from the vision before me.
    It is you.

    You must have fallen asleep
    Last night
    With your tea by your side.

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