Song of the Song

I wish we were living
a story of desire, but
I don’t feel Odysseus 
beating out his tale
of longing at the oars
as we row toward this
war. I don’t sense 
a heart burning—this is
just vengeance—not
even tragic because
the fire that will rain
down does not say
Take my son and I 
will scorch this earth.
Some of us
could appreciate an
aria of pain, a mouth
shaped to a horn
playing one terrible
note. But we don’t even 
get that note, it is drowned
by the other, the one
heard every day
now, it says more, 
I can do anything, watch
me engulf the world, 
oh lord, I am greater
than even you.