Travels of Marco

Mark Levine

I was in Asia Minor

in pursuit of distant honor

in a suit of finest armor

in a forest of pine or

planks. I was not lost. Regina

(my sextant) stared into the refiner’s

flare as evening grew maligner.

            I was in Kazakhstan

            collecting rarest poppies. My capstan

            gave out. I could no more withstand

            the tides than fall to the rattan

            mat like Tristan

            sailing emptily to his mutant

            island.

                        I was in greater Ghana

                        harvesting marijuana

                        with soul-strafing Tatiana,

                        the local swan—a

                        mortal one, a

                        prize among the fauna.

                        (There should have been a lawn a-

                                    gainst her.) You see, I was in Corinth

                                    fabricating synth-

                                    etic absinthe.

                                    I was adamant. The

                                    trophy I chased for the ninth

                                    night of days was Cynth

                                    -ia, succumbing at the plinth.

                        Then to Argentina

                        I set forth with Ekaterina

                        a diminishing ballerina.

                        She pled for fina-

                        steride, having seen a

                        parrot turn bright green u-

                        pon my mythic ocarina.

            I was in Tel Aviv.

            Viv-

            ian (my pigeon) and I were feve

            -rish from bouts of griev-

            ous liv-

            er malaise. We must have been naive

            -r than a hibernal beave

-r, for soon I was in Canada

as ever. Had no plan; not a

home to hide in, nothing human. Ada

(vulgar bird) went wan, bade a

screeching goodnight to her one God, a

soapstone strap-on. Alone, I ran a do-

zen tests: None truer, none sadder.