you seem at rest
but you are not at rest
beneath the skin
you are a fire
you proclaim good things
to the dead
you scatter the petals
of every flower
associated with spring
it is an easy symbolism
yet everything fades
eventually
the shouts, the tears
fame and beauty
even poetry gets replaced
by the muscular grunting
of sweaty bodies
and there is something new
to celebrate
in the evening
after the games
they cover the ground
with laurel
this is a consolation
Apollo’s mourning
it is not yet victory
how does one
redeem sorrow?
how does one
remain at rest
with all the forces intent
on our construction?
let me remain here
what is left of my body
is all i have left
to build something new
lay your hands on me
anoint me with myrrh and aloes
make me soft again
restore me with beauty
i’m tired of ashes
bring me some new clothes
fresh bread, wine
