Miracle

It is a miracle – he says – even more than a miracle

where everything is exhausted (and first of all me) I discover

amid the pebbles at the seashore the holy skull

of one of Achille’s horses – perhaps that of Xanthos

amid the chamomiles I discover the Patriarch’s crutch

I lift it reverently I climb up the marble stairs

I don’t pound the steps with it scores of people gather

I stand before the podium I feel my hair becoming motionless

flowing on my shoulders scores of people can’t wait they jostle

I open my mouth to speak and suddenly I understand

that I am deaf and they hear me

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The Real Reason

No, it’s not that Apollo took back his promise and

the fact that he spat on Cassandra’s mouth annulled

the convincing of her speech thus making her

prophetic words ineffective for herself and others. No.

It’s because no one wants to believe in truth. And when

you see the net inside the bath, you think that it’s

put there for your fishing trip next day and you don’t

hear at all within you and without, ascending the marble

stairs of the castle, the dark message in the cries

of ill-fated Cassandra.

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