The Winds of Ithaca
I can hear
The winds of Ithaca
Fill the sails
Of distant ships
I know what lurks
In sea fathoms and above,
Their idle game
Of such cursory affection
I breathe
As my father breathes;
My father bleeds
As I bleed
Burn these days
Of breathless sorrow
With the wily fires
of Grand Odysseus
String his bow
Let it not forsake me
Sink the arrow
Or Death take me
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