Dream Song 102: The sunburnt terraces which swans make home

The sunburnt terraces which swans make home

with water purling, Macchu Pichu died

like Delphi long ago—

a message to Justinian closing it out,

the thousand years' authority, although

tho' never found exactly wrong

political patterns did indeed emerge;

the Oracle was conservative, like Lippmann,

roared the winds on the height,

The Shining Ones behind the shrine, whose verge

saw the impious plunged, 6000 statures

above the Temple shone

plundered, centuries plundered, first the gold

then bronze & marble, then the plinths,

then the dead nerve—

root-canal-work, ugh. I—I still hold

for the saviour of teeth, & I embrace

only he threw me a vicious