For Triantafyllo

 

A ruby chalice smelling of rosariums  

stories tell us again how you were shed  

from Aphrodite’s rib. Remind us why  

We like Marc Anthony fell in love  

slipping into a fragrance. Translucent  

cups frozen into lines on the coating fog  

through smiles sketched, the sanguine-colored

drink now transparent. Light reveals the core  

of the wound a place where motion spoons  

through the icebound layer cracking  

into all we drink –