Liz Hanley

Elegy in Iambic

A paving stone upon the earth must weigh
(Though verdant sky and Easter church bells toll)
Against remembrance of an ink-strong day:
My face is pressed against a jagged hole.

One pupil dilates for a final view
As through a haze melodic voices pipe.
While fertile lands lie fallow, it is true
That earth of pssyche ever grows more ripe.

Sometimes it is a shame to know the truth;
Belief is harmless, memory a gift.
Though memories grow shadowed, as does youth,
They can with grace descend that darkened rift.

I murmur, no, I shout, against all hopes,
This elegy for Mycenaean slopes.