fr. 8 [that lucky old Sun]
Look: up every bone every sky every day every you—
he goes working his
way up blue earlobes from ocean goes
thrown by rosesudden someone’s
already tomorrow goes riding his bed of daysided
gold goes skimming
sleep countries from west to east until sudden
already earliness opens the back of the clock: he
[a sudden unspeakable sweat]
Sweat. It’s just sweat. But I do like to look at them.
Youth is a dream where I go every night
and wake with just this little jumping bunch of arteries
in my hand.
Hard, darling, to be sent behind their borders
carrying a stone in each eye.
[for poor Tithonos]
They (on the one hand) made his chilly tears immortal
neglecting to tell him
his eyes were not.
Translated from the Greek by ANNE CARSON