65

Ryan Gallagher

Even if I’m constantly alone and the building pain
calls me away, Hortalus, from the bright girls
and the mind of my soul is not able to fetch the sweet
births of the Muses tossing in such evil and
because my brother has just brushed against the gorge
of Lethe’s water spreading over his pale feet—
the earth of Troy under the Rhoeteum shore
crushes him and swipes him from our eyes.
Never again . . (missing text) . .
. . . you my life my dear brother,
can I see you again? Yes, I will always love you.
I will always sing your sad mortal song,
like the thick shade of a tree branch,
the Daulian bird hums the wasted fate of Itylus.
And though I’m still in great torment, Hortalus, I hurl
these lyrics of Battiades right at you.
Your faithful words, exhaled into the vague wind,
truly cleanse my soul. But it’s in vain.
As she lets the apple that her new husband gave her
fall off her lap when her mother
arrives, from under her soft slip,
she falls forward miserably,
bent over the ground and heaving
as she learns of this sadness, her face turns red.