Justin Hunt

 

La Victoire

 

it is that she is beautiful

even faceless, armless

how she is running to flee Paris

her gown barely hanging on

 

when an old Greek

put down his psomi and walking

stick, threw his fisherman’s cap to

the floor of the Louvre

and while leaping onto the Lady’s prow

his arms wrapping the great bosom

to Samothrace

 

i could not forgive her wings

for staying their stone cast

as he stepped down and went calmly

back to the quiet streets

sighno ‘mi, sighno ‘mi