He’d been through too much for this,
the guilt that frets forgetfulness.

I’m the family Augustine. Beth trusts
Your Plato talk. Give her your confessions
About the undergraduates you do.

In Classical Attica it wasn't heinous,
tanned Danaan hands consigning cherubs
to the gods' protection, to die in earthen pots.

I see it like a movie screen:
salty green horizon, cloudy blue water.
You step, a pillar on the deck,