By Ishmael von Heidrick-Barnes
LIVING WITH THE GODS
Didn’t know
I arrived
because I never left Olympus
No need for words
when the mouth is full of baclava from Damascus
dried apricots and cinnamon
aged in oak casks
I am too busy floating
above the candelabra of Cedars
lost in Trojan gold sunlight
going down on sea
I have given my voice
to African songbirds
my thoughts
stitched into the silk
carpets of Saharan winds
I don’t miss the ground
that vanished inside jasmine’s white incense
There is no thirst
when the fountain is full
The gods would banish me
if I threw prose
in the Muse’s face
while she’s still whispering in my ears