November 2, 2023

For the Poet George Seferis

Give me your hands, you said, give me your hands,
meaning that yours held nothing, nothing:
the world was water that ran through your fingers.

Clinic whose blind windows you watched at night,
train stumbling in its rails and then
speeding up as you fell asleep,
pillow that turned into marble in whose veins
the sea floated:
in such places, among such objects,
your voice still fades.

I regret, you said, that I allowed a wide river to flow past me
without drinking even one drop.

How tired you were
of trying to carry eros a little farther.

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A Journal of International Poetry
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