C is for cow, O is for old worn men
slurring the names of Pylian cattle.
Stolen animals with empty stomachs
are led home by familiar farmers
and figs. At night, they swallow bread buttered
with advice. N is for Gerenian
horseman, charmed and wise quasi-divine king,
leader of the ninety ships of brined men.
Olive oil lacunae. Nakedness.
Distant women in deep conversation.
Enthusiastic dramatics persuade
Apollo to share a gulp of ichor
to lift a gold impossible vessel
without unspooling muscle fiber.
Speeches for distracted and doomed princes
rot in balmy bronze horse bellies. First wives
live unsettled in idle palaces.
A is for devoted Antilochus
playing dead under his spear-side horses.
Survivors sail home eating overripe
apricots while Eleians count their sheep.
G is for gaps missing milk and letters.
[Schoolboys fantasize about the ocean
alphabet: Hermes swapped our syllables
with sparrows. Compromises and curses
are carved in clay carefully. Luckily,
I'm kappa for Kadmus sewing triphthongs,
theonyms, and teeth through Nestor's thick lip.
After consulting fat sparrows and swans
and dipping dove feathers in sweet red wine,
I read poetry with Aphrodite.
She dictates with her tongue. I write it down.]