In Athens

by Ann Robinson


gold standard for her era,

the soprano poet,

and the blind lyric

knee-deep in maps.


Dreams of ships, dark-walled

towers, his letters

echoed home.


Or her signature love

etched on a stone floor,

her violet hair turned white.


Sappho and Homer

gnarled legends,

wiser than their gods.


Their breath still lingers,


folded quietly among flowers and sorrow.


Beloved and shirtless

he asks only

for seeds and rain.


And she, broken of speech but not love—

Their afterglow lighting all of Athens

for those with wit to see.