At Delphi
With most of the bronzes
melted down for weapons,
he stands, as though absorbed
in some deep thought,
reins dangling
empty as fame or victory
from his hand,
and doesn’t seem to notice
the horses have since
wandered off with the chariot;
his dark eyes
disengaged as wilderness
from this room, these artifacts,
and all of us
saddled with passage and time.
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