Travels of Marco

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.

Copyright Credit: Mark Levine, "Travels of Marco" from Travels of Marco. Copyright © 2016 by Mark Levine. Reprinted by permission of Four Way Books, www.fourwaybooks.com.

Source: Travels of Marco (Four Way Books, 2016)