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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & General Editor
Volume 9, Number 4, December 2015

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Giselle Maya
St. Martin de Castillon, France


Traces Homériques

ephemeral
on the highest limestone peak
one sea bird
ever on the lookout
for the mariner’s return

waxen plugs in their ears
his crew tied him to the mast
Ulysses could hear
the sirens’ magic song—
distant the isle of no return

before lunch we took a long boat ride to visit les calanques which are northern fjords carved by time and weather into magnificent sculpted shapes with aleppo pines perched high

on the boat there was a man who seemed to belong to the sea and the limestone cliffs his blue eyes sparkled as he smiled he did not speak I could not fathom this reticence might he be a sea god come aboard

the sea came up deliciously and stirred us awake with spray chatoyante the water cooled our skin and bones this is the substance from which we descend the boatman told us of caves that had been found by a diver who entered a wide rock crevice into painted caves as old as Lascaux found underwater unexplored and inaccessible but for those who know how to dive

there was no reason to ever leave this enchanted coastline but alas we did and left behind the high stone refuge one can hike to and spend nights like eagles perched in their eyries I must go back there I must go back

footprints
of an unknown bird
on a stretch
of fine mica sand
lead me on and on

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