Damned if

.

Pahn   is       digging                                     
in             his     fields                   

He has                                            
                   a sense of the coming nymphs
with their husbands

Their damp forms ripple in

through the door
              of his family’s hostel

old and wooden     of the

craftsman school     dark

redwood   strongly

horizontal
Self-                    
consciously
     he follows
   them
       like a gosling
      carrying their imprint
     out
     into the winter     
 garden
 
     where groves of

     people are wandering     
 in the dusk
    between the houses
 
  a climate of friends
  and workers
  that lingers
as they regress inside

He walks around Djuturna
(on a couch) who would
                                embrace him if she were not
sitting with her spouse
                                 and young son

He walks over to Egairia whose                                              

husband is                                        
away and they
drift
                          into the yard

the      turned  soil
now   waffled
with snow

Beneath an arched arbor
of frozen rose
                     they lean together
                    turning aside
before touching lips

Walking closely
up the path
                   to the street
                         holding cuffs
they stop to graze collars

Stirring                                                                       
they remember working
                             and the days
                                               in the community
and their complacency               
blows off
                                        into the bed-sheets
hanging on a line

He stares into the coming day
wondering              
                    if he should avoid her
but he should not             

.

.