“Trust is not always friendship. I shouldn’t have informed. How shallow we are, the best of us. We bungle. Friendship, yours and mine, it’s hard to measure, perhaps we shouldn’t try: isn’t it better left alone? Friendship, that’s what we’ve had all these years...I overstepped propriety.”
How pale Libus was, in his grey robe, shadows ridging the fabric, chalking his face, thickening his lips, greying his hair. His sandals moved nervously yet he never moved his hands: they remained weighted to his lap.
I ate supper there, lingering with the ancientness of his rooms, dark mosaics, the crowning of a king behind him, Libus’ chair of white leather, the king in the mosaic studying his crown, his jewels flashing red, a hint of Corinth and a hint of Crete.
P
Remembering my shepherd visit, I wrote this:
Evening Star
Hesperus, you bring
Homeward all that
Dawn’s light disperses,
Bring home sheep,