(Picaro for Picara)The land drops off from dullard hills
to fall beside that well-walled hole to
make breaths short next drops again
to flaming gorge across the green where
no one hears us when we speak for all those
drops so no one cares nor can
they see that point of road where we have
crossed and made no sound that we’re
about with our no cares save only
that of knowing
we are on the road Picara we
are on the road.
This boat from Mitilini hits
Chios too late at night but still
disgorges all those trucks flying
back past Agamemnon who
dances through brash MS dance while
Lesvos lady Macedonian lass dreams
forward of Agamemnon’s flinch his
shrugs the pirouette his wish to
die truck-crushed upon a Chios wharf
but Lesvos lady and I too care
not for dying in sight of Chios
Macedonian lass you Picara we
stay out to sea.
That snow flying low across the road so the
kid she says its like Kuwait save trading
snow for sand where desolation’s all
the same with pump jacks sucking
oil above to barren wind blown
grounds where both of us have once called
home as much as any other place we’ve
known so this road hides beneath the
snow
but you know Lady Picara we
are on the road.
Halikas of the falling rocks and lookout for
those pirates and Halikas Papa where’s the
house that binds the Lesvos lady here on
rocks that watch the strait beyond the
strait to spy those bones of Hector but down
in Malivos from falling rocks in Malivos at
night where girls descend to sailers below
the rooms of Yannis and the Niki we fall
like falling rocks she knows this Picara we
always ride on falling rocks.
Sechelt 12/2010
