Mykene

'Mykene' by Roger Iredale

by Roger Iredale 3rd July 2015

Summer morning come heat on the wine-field
     and the lizards crinkle
understone. In olive groves cicadas chirr

and the blunt lion-gate lies open to the horde.
     Those hills opposite
were purple in the dawn, now fragments in a heat

like twisted tin. The gods are sniffing dust
     while archaeologists
prise out their chamber-pots, or brush with feather