Nike at the Megaliths.(poem)(Poem)

 
NIKE AT THE MEGALITHS 
 
   At the megalithic temple 
   in early afternoon heat 
   a sunscreened woman walks away 
   from her tour group, the tone 
 
   of the amplified commentary 
   slick as instructions to youths 
   on a sports field till, 
   at the perimeter, close to olive trees, 
 
   it's a slight irritation 
   like the last blowfly in a house 
   where for a reader her book 
   is a passport into immersion. 
 
   There, near the huge stones, 
   where to the right she can see 
   the continuous present 
   of the blue Mediterranean 
 
   it seems a small step 
   through light reflected off limestone 
   to see robed priests and linger 
   as if in 4000BC, in the heat 
 
   of a primitive cosmology. 
   The clay women, swollen as loaves, 
   in their alcoves. Puzzle 
   of blood in the dust. What's known 
 
   of their rites? Her guesswork. 
   The woman like an ad for Nike, 
   slim, blonde, American, 
   has only minutes to be amazed 
 
   like an archaeologist who turns silent 
 ...