Oil on limbs, <br />maybe a rancid smell <br />as on the chapel's <br />oil-press here, <br />as on the rough pores <br />of the unturning stone. <br /> <br />Oil on hair <br />wreathed in rope <br />and maybe other scents <br />unknown to us <br />poor and rich <br />and statuettes offering <br />small breasts with their fingers. <br /> <br />Oil in the sun <br />the leaves shuddered <br />when the stranger stopped <br />and the silence weighed <br />between the knees. <br />The coins fell: <br />‘In the goddess's name I summon you...' <br /> <br />Oil on the shoulders <br />and the flexing waist <br />legs grass-dappled, <br />and that wound in the sun <br />as the bell rang for vespers <br />as I spoke in the churchyard <br />with a crippled man.<br /><br />Giorgos Seferis<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-the-goddess-name-i-summon-you/
