For The Crew Marooned On an Island in the Aegean Sea

At the chunk of rock
They moor their ship their only memory
It is noon the wind lies down
On the warm deck
And they gather the lots made of bone
Shuffle the playing cards
Chance arcs in by the mast
In the sound of the collapsing cards
The captain will not play the game
His daughter is different
Master of this place
Of measurement and particle
He will not let her at the foot of the rock
He would like to remain faithful to the instruments

Still the ship is moored
The island is crumbling into the sea
When light goes down the waves come up
Slip in under the netting
Watching through themselves
Under the pulsing stars she convokes the crew
Voice a rich mezzo she explains her calculations
Spilling over a train of papers in her hand
Crafted in ink with symmetric diagrams
Glossing over the blurred waves
There will be no wind for days she says
Only the lots will serve here
Only the bones the metacarpals
Still retain a sense of direction
The crew members must nod taken by
Her suite of equations her form her diction
The meeting is adjourned
And the captain unknowing does not observe
Later in his daughter’s tent
She hums keening music
She is hearing something else
Which filters down through dusk

The sound of birds tutoring their young
In the violet hew call
She is hearing rituals for pulling the sun
Passed down through the blood and sound
And she fixes the bones of the lot
Painting over unprotected cards
Shapes the many fingers of chance
With the sign of her death
She will not be wrong she has dedicated everything
To the density of water the statue of Archimedes the covenant with the dead
For the captain of the ship she will be
Agamemnon’s love in the Aegean

When morning comes pastel-blue and vaulting
She has already entered the fullness of it
Again the crew gathers but something is on their lips
The captain reaches for his lots
Casts the bones up into the blue
They hang suspended for a moment
Descend down into his fragile hands cupped
He throws his shock to the waves
Seizes the cards from his oarsman
Lays out the five symbols but they confirm it
His daughter will be left for the wind
To appease nothing some statue in the Acropolis
Mixing her body with the rock
The crew bursts into sound
Wind coming like white noise
Tone clusters mechanical voices waves piling up
Spilling out from air
Bones gaining heat
Turning white-hot radiating bodies
Now the explosion comes
A small bomb shatters them
Smoke hovers over
Plumes are what is left is
Time for them in the frames of the sea
The captain’s daughter died here on this rock
Has it been two thousand years for her