ARMS AND THE MAN
I can't exactly justify my being, and I sometimes
feel I don't have to anyway : it's a personal thing,
this whole 'why am I here' pose. I've traveled those
selfsame islands with the sirens and satyrs and with
Cyclops himself and found nothing. The Mycenaean
ruins still call, but I answer nothing back. I'm done.
My lineage is the stone statuary of an ancient heart :
sailors on Aegean seas, those who encamped on
Balkan shores, Albanian drivers and Italian oars.