The Primitive Polyphemus
before the Strangers’ Attack
But then again we do not always need
The total poem. Au contraire. We guess
The substance missing. Hurt lines also bleed.
The rips and blots allow us to say yes
To meanings we imagine. Deletions
Free up the mind to search for what lines might
Have sung. Cannon balls fired by Venetians
Destroyed the Parthenon, but now the sight
Of it, its ragged grace, permits the brain
The chance for visions of its marble strength
Unscarred. We close our eyelids. Then we strain
To see its first conception, that full length
Unbroken in its beauty. Hearts can spy
Out perfect splendor, primal to their eye.