(To Be Seen by Iamos, Calchas and Teiresias
He carves works that will immortalize
his name as “Anonymous” —
stone shrinks as the sage
peruses a sabotage
I was a fetal heap crumpled
against the other side of your door
Only statues can manifest
what moves me, moves me
Your broken bodies manifest
spaces between
signifying this world’s only
certainty: Uncertainty
Hippodameia today: incom
-plete with feet long gone
broken off at the ankles
prideful crack rising from
right eye to hairline
a missing left arm
She is raising her veil
against my gaze—
the beholder a reflection
she fears — Archaic Greece
feared chaos. Yet again
I look behind me
surreptitiously, in the way
of faux sages throughout history
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