you have made me dumb,

waiting for you to come around,

becoming superstitious in what I do:

doing nothing

doing what you wouldn’t want

doing what you would want, but without you.

I act to bind you, to beckon you here.

I long to feel you again, purely as my own,

without false intermediaries or  substitutes,

moving with me and inside me like a pressure,

making me a wedge against the world

with the tangled breeze against my skin,

pushing me with ease,

lifting me out from time.

Expand me,

let me account for all that is around me

as mine, as I claim you within.

Make spider webs of my stones,

Loose everything that is compressed

Let all defensive shells break and unravel

Let my true contents become alive and light.

I am as fragile as material can reach.

Let the sea storm
& the storm smooth stones
& the stones stand grey and glisten
Let the otters kill the crabs
that stand out from stones
until the crabs stand grey and glisten

Let the maidenhead ram
into the corsair stern
until the steel hull cracks the maiden
Let the hull play coy
until the missile destroys
some only corsair’s dream of freedom

Let the brace bend the bite
until the fork tines fit
the bite-size gauged for flavor
Let the renegade flavors flee
the downsized taste
until the bite-size best-fits flavor

Let the sea be an oath
to every bride promised beach
until the world shores mean vacation
Let myth be a dog whacked
to whimper in the night
when in secrecy we crave some ornament

To avoid wasting the intervening time I resolved to attend the classes of philosopher Agapius, of whom Christodorus the poet speaks, “Agapius, the last but foremost of them all.” Under him it was my fortune to study the first part of the Aristotelian doctrine and to attend some lectures on Platonic philosophy.

But fortune advanced Zoticus, a fellow-citizen of mine who took some extreme delight in me, to the office of Praetorian Prefecture under the mildest of monarchs, the Emporer Anastasius.

Zoticus enrolled me among the clerks of his office, in which it so happened that my brow did mingle with a hundred equitable nephews of Ammianius, each whose father occupied a distinguished position…and each, at the suggestion of the all together excellent and reasonable Ammanius, who all his life was devoted to learning and philosophy, attempted to secure for himself a wife to bring them one hundred pounds of gold as her dowry and moreover to excel all women who at any time have won a reputation for sobriety.

To the end it remained a career open to educated talent, irrespective of ancestry, but the ties of local association, cousinship and intermarriage must have been strong and helpful.

Among the nephews, a brash administrator carefully graded the Edict of Theodosius and derived, to celebrate the Decennalia, that the service of the monarchy was itself sacrosanct; promotion in it should become above criticism. It was not fitting to discuss princely judgment, for it was equal to sacrilege to doubt if any man was worthy whom the prince had chosen. If anyone therefore thrusted themselves into a position to which they were not entitled, they should defend themselves not by pleas of ignorance; but should be tried for sacrilege as one who has neglected the divine precepts of the Emperor.

The Adoration of the Sacred Purple by the few, led naturally to the Adoration of the Sacred Image by the many. As the Principate became a Sacred Monarchy, official art became sacred art, and the Imperial portrait a cult object. The enthroned emperor was the prototype of an enthroned God just as an enthroned empress was the prototype of the enthroned Mother of God.

Wives were chosen for their resemblance to Sassanian queens, actual women would hide in catacombs to preserve their virginities, while suitors would flock around portraits of the ladies portrayed with spears and mounted on rearing stallions while a supernatural power crowned them with a victory whose hue was determined by the status of the family rank.

Were it not for the favor of Zoticus I would only hail from the ancestors depicted in the backgrounds of Mausoleum cupolas, servants, carpenters, and manuscript illuminators. Such programmes are carried through nonchalantly, there was something fumbling about this period.

I embarked to become Praefectus Orientis, a witness to the east, I passed through lands of Amorians and Macedonians, I became a merchant selling carved elephant tusks, hunting horns, and textiles. I reached the noble Severen houses of Persia, I was wealthy enough to provide my own dowry, I wore a golden tiarra fashioned in the style of the Crown of Monomachos, the spires of the diadem were enamel dancing girls. I had a train of three hundred camels and a carriage of multi-colored marble. My servants showed delight in personal prowess and good horsemanship, as evidence of my tastes.

But the emphasis, even here, upon the significance of noble birth was inconceivable; my station was only a trick, a hypothesis of fortune sent as a living icon to place fear in the hearts of Bedoins who might dare to rise above their stations. I was punished, as an example.

My silks were traded for linens, and I was forced to work as a butcher and a heathen. I sold monkey brains and wool. I charmed cobras in the streets.

Dear future self:

I have grown used to the flashy congestions of her cities; the twists in her landscape have lost the display of a second nature. I have seen Indian funeral tables made of stone and carved ornately, with dragons and birds swallowing the sun. I went from a gallery of television sets to a large gorey statue made to represent a villiage of women who uprose against, pursued, and slew their unlucky captors. I have longed for my love so hard that she seems to have existed under a different night sky. I have heard the ocean breezes as they swept through the palm fronds. I have awoken to the aroma of endless cups of coffee, as rich and mysterious as the land on which it was grown. I have gone swimming in the sea, and made some peace with the rain. I have had time to write.

Take care, and find some again.