Philoctetes
a poem about wounded healers, with gratitude to Seamus Heaney
Philoctetes
My dreams are wine-dark
and when I wake
I am encircled by the sea.
Who left me
to this island?
Who left me
to this wound?
Gods, I know a man
cannot heal himself
but I will place my hands
upon this weeping,
my hope bending
like a bow.
May its arrow sail
straight and true.
May these lines strike
swift and deep,
so blind bards might see
and fair tides might rise.
Another fine tale of hope and faith.
Certainly, your words strike true.