C.P. Cavafy

The initial damage comes from the very fragile nature of the goods that ships carry. In the agoras of fantasy, the best things are made of thin glass and transparent clay, and with all the care in the world, many are destroyed in transit, and many are lost on arrival. Such damage is irreparable, since it is impossible to go back and pick up similar products. There is no chance of finding the same store that sold the items in the first place.

I wonder if in ancient times

glorious Alexandria held a youth so sublime,

a boy more perfect than he – who had been so wasted:

there are no statues or paintings, of course.

Thrown into the old blacksmith’s,

worn out by strenuous labour

and everyday revelry, he was quickly ruined.

‘We haven’t any money. We’re two broke kids
impoverished in the centre of poverty.
Let’s be honest we can’t go on.
Another man wants to call on me.’

That evening he strayed – he had found work
to feed himself – into the café they
frequented together

The naysayer has no regrets. Asked again,
one understands, he would say no again.
That righteous no – by which he is undone

The wise, though, know when the future
is about to happen.

Because while he lies dead here in this port,
his parents will always hope he’s alive