Return to Athens.
Dust flies! Clusters of bystanders
mock us on our way back--ritual wit,
dancing with horns and bells.
On the bank of the Kephasis, a sweet
smell, a rotting carp, sunflecked.
It comes to me spread open like a fan--
a vision, emptied as I am:
The carp has given up.
There is nothing it can not have, now.
My companions and I tell jokes,
released, all the gods coming along
shoving and laughing, flashing
their colors. Beside me, even
the unknown god steps lightly, taking
the spectacle to heart.
.... Demeter--I know where she is--
.... somewhere under a tree, snoring
.... like an old woman who knows
.... what she knows, but is content.
Bees are humming. Persephone hums
with the bees. She is barely audible,
standing there unguarded and skinny,
sending up her voice like a reed
from my heart.
Those two are planning
the future between them, humming
and snoring. I catch
only a syllable, a phrase,
in my language, make up the rest
to tell Heaera
when I get home.