Who Lived Among Them

Two rooms, the Aegean, 2008,
there lived a rhapsode and his wife.
When they ate, they ate straight
from the vine. Her curves, sibilance,
Serbo-Croatian chants. His chants,
curves of clocks, burnished bells.
When they ate, they boiled wings and gills.

Nights, slate olives, he couldn’t see.
Your words are what’s missing of me.
Nights, slate olives, the girl who watched
goats leapt the fence
of fret wire to watch
the rhapsode’s wife writhe lily-wide.
When they ate, they ate straight from the fire.
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