I said I would wait, & I meant it:

crossed over

the morning your ship launched,

chilled blood river

slow through the cave of my veins as a whisper

lost on the ferryman's lips.

You sailed to the stars out there,

to their wars

& Helens in harlot bronze.

I wandered the asphodel stars that wake

in the fields of heroes & gods.

Unweaving my dreams each century,

I praised you in the present tense

to all who sought me,

a second obol

secret beneath my tongue.

You said you would come, & you did:

bright dust

of a hundred worlds

on your feet & the scent

of nameless Calypsos like victors' laurels

immortal in your hair.

My eyes still kept that morning,

their history

brief & blue & quiet.

Yours echoed with an epic blindness

too large to hold one heart.

Tonight I will swallow half my fare

& answer the asphodel glance of one

whose face is lit

with the flames of cities,

whose arms are warmer than yours.