In Greece, there stands a ruined amphitheater
where the echoes of our voices
reach us even so far away
as the sun fades over the hill
We sat in dry grasses waiting for an end
talking softly into each other
among insects anticipating decay
holding onto each other's bodies
Once I dreamed of Athens
and woke up next to the Oracle
She said to rebuild the remains of our dreams
use the ashes of the bed from the night before.
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Matt Whitman is currently a graduate student at The University of Alabama. He is 22.
Bay Laurel / Volume 1, Issue 1 / Autumn 2012