Mythic river which never existed
though ancient Greeks believed you flowed throughout
Central Europe—ghost river resisted
by Herodotus—parched bed cursed by drought
when Zeus glanced away, then bellowed with waves
when he gazed again and laughed—tanned Phaeton’s
coffin, guarded by Heliades, caves
storing their amber tears (jeweled omens
inviting your constellation)—what stars
call your name through lonely night, sing of your
legend flowing near Venice, grasping Arles?
What voices chorus their hymns of faith, sure
you’re offspring of Tethys? Geology’s
experts claim you’re truly the Baltic Sea.
Roger Armbrust
January 17,
2013
