Prayers for the city.
Knee-deep in the sea,
we begin the prayers.
I can see the ridge of
Athens, alert
as a child's face
between Aegaleos
and the Gulf. Athens, lifting
her own prayers, over
and over, like a child, Tell me
stories of Persians clanging
against Long Wall, heroes
set to each other
like stones.
Even when I, myself, pray,
my right hand and my left
make up their own
wishes, each flash
of bracelet and rings
a turn of my heart, each
hand its own country,
knuckles braced against
each other,
the enemy at the wall.
On the one hand,
my poor spirit, my poor child lost
to the earth, is kissing
the mouth of Hades,
her eyes closed.
On the other,
my prayers climb the Parthenon,
Acropolis, Propylaea, heap up
like Demeter's cries to Zeus,
Send me a hero to get her
out of his hands!