August Poem 31

Tommy wandered his way over

To the fig tree before

Pliny began to speak.

 

I crouched next to Tommy

In the fig cave my body canvas.

I did not want to leave the protective

Grip of careful coordination.

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August Poem 30

The night pushed me down;

I had to struggle for classical

Technique and realistic representation.

I’m not sure I looked straight

At the brick wall. It took so long

For my eyes to focus:

That was 464 BCE,

Now.