The Cretans followed, cramming the breach.
The royal mirror melted in the hearth
when Nisos kissed his catamites goodbye
and let them lick what was left in the cup
after he finished the pharmakon.
The conquerors enjoyed a precocious twilight.
Starvation’s marks prevented no one
from fulfilling oaths to Aphrodite:
nothing’s more erotic than regicide.
The Cretan ships creaked under spoils.
Hupakoë culled a couple of bricks
from Apollo’s tower, then torched the parts
of the city that weren’t sizzling already.
The armada set out with Minos inside
a coffin biered by the captured bricks.
While most men rowed or managed the sails,
designated mourners did nothing
but keep the coffin’s quiet company
through a victory voyage that felt like defeat.
The keel beneath the coffin was cutting
innocent billows, and their blue greenness
whitened in protest.
Hupakoë had time to ponder the best