(To Be Seen by Iamos, Calchas and Teiresias

He carves works that will immortalize
his name as “Anonymous” —

stone shrinks as the sage
peruses a sabotage

I was a fetal heap crumpled
against the other side of your door

Only statues can manifest
what moves me, moves me

Your broken bodies manifest
spaces between

signifying this world’s only
certainty: Uncertainty

Hippodameia today: incom
-plete with feet long gone

broken off at the ankles
prideful crack rising from

right eye to hairline
a missing left arm

She is raising her veil
against my gaze—

the beholder a reflection
she fears — Archaic Greece

feared chaos. Yet again
I look behind me

surreptitiously, in the way
of faux sages throughout history

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