absens absentem auditque videtque...
Aeneid IV, 83
I've silenced the musicians
for tonight. They make me
melancholy, and I can ill
afford such self-indulgence,
when you are gone
so long………
The first persimmon
moon of autumn
burnishes the roof-tiles;
September's grapes hang heavy
on the vine.
I hear the pheasants
calling from the hazel thickets,
listen
for wolves' predatory cries,
and lie awake till dawn.
Servitude to Mars
and Caesar's empire
knows no bounds.
Where are you now?
Somewhere on the Egnatia?
Witnessing rites in some
outlandish shrine?
I would myself prefer to be
abroad - not in this villa,
circumscribed and bored.
Better by far to ride
among barbarians,
your boon companion,
than to be left
with faithful hounds,
paying lip-service to Vesta.
Insomnia is destroying me.
It is not sleep I miss.
Oh yes, I can guess the forms
your devotion takes. Don't
bother to confess.
I blame the temptress moon
for any symptoms
of derangement.
I'll have my cunning nurse
prepare a tincture
laced with mandragora
and, ensnaring slumber,
dream of you, and then,
beyond all dreaming, voyage
distant seas, where images
command no currency…
Vain wish, I hear you say.
It's too late to defect,
let alone repine, my dear
Sulpicia…
Do you recall
that evening when we met?
We both adored the smell
of bridges burning,
omens of unrest……
Fasten the shades against
the moon, darken your tent,
but she comes unbidden,
stealing between your sentinels,
robbing you of repose.
Can you recall the exact weight
of my head upon your chest?