I study your sleeping form / at the bottom of the pool / like a house I could return to,
like a head to be cradled in the arms. / Unless you are asleep I cannot make my way / across the night / and through my isolation.
“You: an Achilles’ apple
Blushing sweet on a high branch
At the tip of the tallest tree.
You escaped those who would pluck your fruit.
Not that they didn’t try. No,
They could not forget you
Poised beyond their reach.”
Sappho | Fragment 105(a) tr. Anita George
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