Medea IV / Helios

Like a neck on ice, a lip of fire,
the blue-peacock aquamarine dying down
to recommend me to sleep. That red choir,
a phalanx under my left breast. Alone,

I dreamt we walked up a slate-dry river.
The stones were sharp and flat as I followed
your beautiful bare back. Delivered ever,
I was a believer, and roe glowed exposed

on rocks beneath the heat. We had no children.
They had never been born. We were
happy in the way the difficult can be.
We were two persons climbing a nameless creek.

You did not pause to look at me. Still then
we continued, and it felt so good, so green.