When Brasidas took Amphipolis,
one surrendering citizen etched out
visions of the future,
the reoccurring melody,
on clay in some veranda –

*That throb from the fold to the ripple’s edge;
the flowered bank’s erosion.
The circulating noose and knife;
themes where fools wander.

A mound of nails;
where Iscariot’s shekels
buried thirteen withered stools.