Afternoon in Athens
when i am old i will ask
for afternoons like these
in Athens, where the warm hours
from midday fall
& collect like little heaps
of marble dust; white & smoky.
in the evenings
when my thoughts of Dublin & London
are swallowed into bells, the dust heaps
float up like shimmering veils
to drape the acropolis.
when i am old i will ask
for afternoons like these-
sore & bruised with the beauty
of monuments. my feet
will be swollen from dreams
where i have run through the sun
to look upon Zeus; bronze & fresh
from the sea.
afternoons like these, sat
among the treasure we call ruins,
i ask what my own bones are worth
now they have moved through
sacred Athens; city of chanting stone
where everything breathes
and nothing is forgotten.
