i. The Scholar Stands Before the Mosaic
of Aeneas at the Bardo in Tunis
Such ways as those lost in endless verses
Are here reconquered and vivid with heat,
The ceaseless broken days borrowed
And translated, fading chips glued into mosaics.
The ancient turquoise fish curve, enclosing
Aeneas's blank simper and sea-tangled hair.
The breakers slither in, dousing trouser-cuffs in
camel dung and seaweed,
Fossilized, these epics, and the fastening of
Flame into prismatic tranquility,
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Motes of color like pixels composing a map:
"Even the single memory of a lost passion
Remains for centuries until we perceive it,"
As if to verge, to engage, were merely a parody
Of that love that first joined us; though these
debts
Are unlikely to be redressed or meet with
rhyme in this age.
As one is implausibly upheld by serenity
In the last moments before commerce is cut
From oasis to coast, sky ensnared below the
waters,
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