Two Poems

Jeff Miles

Tomasii and the Wise Serpent, Ourdyss

        *
But the surviving few made for the hills
at a distance from the man-made lake,
reaching the nearest after dawn.  These men
struggled to climb the steep slope,
hauling themselves from one slim tree trunk
to the next until they reached the tree line,
then scrambling up the final yards
to the mountain’s rounded summit.
They hugged the gray stones, looking
at one another:  only seven of them remained.

        *
At that point in the story I would usually fall
asleep.  The next night, I’d ask my grandfather
to go on, and he would restart the story
from the beginning.  If I was stubborn enough,
I might stay awake an extra minute or two,
to where the pursuers came up, panting
from the chase, rested a few minutes,
then started to climb the mountain, but
their heavy armor dragged them back.  They
stripped it off, and started up with swords only.
Meanwhile at the top, Tomasii, the leader,
had discovered the entrance to a cave.  A draft
from its depths fell cold on Tomasii’s face.

       *
In my dream, the seven found footholds
cut into the hidden cave’s near-vertical shaft.
Tomasii led them downward.  The darkness
was complete.  Then came the serpent’s voice:
I am Ourdyss.  Who disturbs my sleep?  Sleep,
said my grandfather’s voice.  The seven men
groped along the cold black road, arms
stretched out before them.  Ourdyss, said the voice
out of the darkness.  My grandfather
said nothing, dead these forty years.  He visits
my dreams, drinks from a red goblet, never speaks,
though sometimes I ask him questions.  I know
he would not tell me what happens next.  As always,
he would start over again from the beginning.

        *
Not knowing what else to do, I talk to him, I tell him
his old bedtime story.  He listens patiently,
though I have it all mixed up.  Ourdyss, I explain,
helps them, the light from his wise eyes
shows them the secret passages to a world
from which they will not return.  My grandfather
nods, agreeing.  Their pursuers seek them in vain;
the cave mouth has closed.  My grandfather smiles.
I see him more clearly than in my clearest memory.
Somewhere ahead in the darkness, Tomasii
sees a flicker, a pinpoint of light.  I do not know
the path that will take me out of this story.

***

Lighthouse

Here is a window
into the sky

the night sky
behind the blue sky

dark carved in day’s
white face

sunset and sunrise
hand in hand

light and shadow
turned inside out

vertical horizon slicing
splicing the earth

Jeff Miles a native of Minnesota, has lived and worked in Greensboro, NC, for more than thirty years.  A past Icarus Prize winner, his poems have appeared in Southern Poetry Review, Carolina Quarterly, Quarterly West, The Louisville Review, and International Poetry Review.  His chapbook, Tigers, was published in 1998.

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