Kathleen Spivack
DAPHNE
The only words I know how to write are leaves;
the only way I know how to be is loyal :
one of those women facing the sea and grieving–
it is surprising how much I can keep to myself.
The only dance now is you and me swaying,
trapped like the ancients, caught in the classic frieze:
and now I am running away while you follow,
one hand outstretched, your mouth an 0 of astonishment.
At the end of the grove the sea sparkles;
the day opens once more as if nothing has happened.
Naked, you pursue me round a ceramic curve
of red and black figures, like the shores of north america .
Who would have thought the old themes could travel so far?
Yet even now in this new land you are betraying me
just as I wait for a god to enter me,
mute, polymorphous; any shape is possible:
just as a relationship of pursuit
is only possible while both of us are moving.
The sea purifies, so why aren't I happy
standing still, hearing a crow call, blotting out my life?
