I found an altar with the inscription: To an unknown god.—Acts 17:23
by the wells enigma-burdened i paced the winter road traversing the sailors quarter the mountain winds descending a rut-crusted crone vaunted her marjoram perfume a lad chill-blackened abruptly burst the gate of the city no silver no pedigree a fugitive of his homeland just a place he sought for playing his flute i had no entry to fine establishments yet i aboded him now a snow dusting everything when i regard it mirrored by the dangling white cloud the puff compels me that our soul is tightly bound to heaven by consummately vested fountains agitated crowds intensely vengeful finger potshards scraped with curses intrepid hawkers jingle amulets in the forum supplicating cobalt evils indecisions at the marshy outskirts all the philosophers talking and talking as we sweep their quivering postulates from the cobblestones haggling bones will not interrupt the ablutions there alone stunned by the portents of veins squadrons requisition quartz motions shame in the road where boys prancing kick loose bricks before the paunchy centurions while they lave their fevered heads shame in the mansion where coins shake the wine cups of girls swaying to the opaque notes of the pantomime every heart must pound i raise a cry when the sun hits its apex for laborers abandoning bankrupt houses plaster-chested wandering wretched-cloaked we never saw these herbs before the oracles of our fathers now reduced to croaks in the crevices of debt being called in by abandoned statues if there be no meaning in the labyrinthine handshakes in the chaff flying off the fields in the choking utterances of fools in the exhalations of whales in the maelstrom of the constellations then let us bring another valley our arms full of music
Andy Oram
December 24, 2018