Philoctetes' Dream                                             

            How you got wind of it 
            I never really knew
            Because I didn’t notice anything amiss

            Perhaps you thought you saw a limp,
            A tic, a slightly tremulous hand:
            Nonetheless, my aim was unimpeachable

            I’ve been a long time pondering,
            After the curses, in exile
            Among the rocks and thistle
            Just above the breakers on the coast

            And at the corner table of the café
            Where Pablo serves the blackest aromatic coffees
            Late at night, for regulars,
            I lay aside my quiver and my bow

            At first the islanders applaud 
            The oratory I prepare for your return,
            Then through the early morning hours of countless days
            I find a tongue for ordinary things,
            For passages and song

            You would be their envoy, naturally,
            As irresistible as when you stole away,
            Beauty bound to power
            Like me to you

            How I delight in your soft
            Half-truthful breath,
            Your eyes with their avenues of cypress:
            Time has magnified allure

            I’ll hand you what you cherish
            Readily, my implements of war,
            But please don’t speak of honour,
            Gold or incandescent victory

            It took the tenderness and fragrance of a wound
            To give me pause –

            And you


             Emanuel E. García, Sojourns2014