Helen

Helen

When you were here,
when I could take your hand and
gently kiss the tips of your fingers,
you did not need a name.
I called you Love with every glance, touch, exhalation.
Today a body of water lies between us and
without your name my voice goes unraised
in protest at your removal.

Call yourself a siren and I will drown for your song.
Call yourself Circe and beguile me.
Call yourself Medusa and
though it would be my last,
I would tear the veils from your face and
my statue would bear such an expression of ecstasy
you would be lauded as the greatest of sculptors.

And if I should call you Helen
I would call myself a multitude:
man a thousand ships,
set sail for your shore,
lay siege to the walls of your indifference.

If I should call you Helen
I should call myself Ulysses:
it will only be through your surrender
I can return.
It will be no horse,
but something…
something…

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