The Loneliness Project


He tells her of ancient Greece,

Mount Olympus with its gorges,

and peaks, and gorgeous gods,

quick-tempered, violent,

unleashing their vengeance

against mortals and each other.

He tells her of shining Ithaca,

a tanned boy out in the sun,

a man with sea water in veins,

longing for voyage and land,

a wanderer whose very name

is casting lament upon his brow.

At nightfall he sheds his stories,

heart bared, stands before her,

trembling, heeding her silence,

a boy-man, rugged, tender,

weathered skin –- a map of travels,

its salty lines aching for touch.

She takes his hand, leads him

into the deep of the island,

through the familiar orchard,

to the wedding bed, the olive

still rooted to the ground,

awaiting his homecoming.

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