Cyclops

One day the one-eyed cyclops heard a voice

That lingered like a promise in his ear.

He turned toward Manhattan with its swatch

Of diamond polygons against a sky surreal -

With expectation and surprise intact,

But shaken to the bone, the giant moaned.

Who says that love has any other choice

But to be love, and tussle with our fear?

Among the pantomime of gotham noise

That supple melody he’d heard was Galatea’s.

The bridges rattle out to Brooklyn weighed with cars,

The West Side Highway is forever clogged.

The giant’s single eye turns liquid salt,

His too too human heart now raw with love.