Our Ides of March

By Nirina Mignon

Hail, Ravenna! Tyrant over senses,

Over themes of Trebizond do curl thy tresses;

The Gorgon’s vanity, the pillars of salt

Which anneal over receding glances a halt,

Could not bestride (seeling and forlorn) thy cruelty.

Waning and staggering on gore, an orphaned conjunction

Peers malformed ’neath a Latin dictionary, as Coleridge in his interruption.

Incipis et desistis sicut Hecate,

Haud ulla amplior victima magisque mactare:

Rursus et cursus in conditionem.

Nay, this lilt constricts against thy simplicity,

Limpid and gracile in its nudity.

Guardai alla volta sciolta e filante

Dove ogni pensieri non so più ritornare!