At my window, unobserved through curtained leaves
I saw him first,
My eyelids blinked in morning sunshine
That pierced the water lapping at his ship.
He had the clear look of honest hero.
Virility purposed striding up from dappled harbour.
His face marble-stern
Softened as he tossed a smile upon the slave
Who took his message to my father.
I heard my maid approach and swathed myself in drapings.
I held this moment secret
He was there beneath my window;
So close I heard him breathe.
He paused in shadow.
I paused too.
I heard him say ‘the Golden Fleece’
Tight-voiced. No matter.
He would hunger for me too.
I can move freely, unseen, unheard.
It is an art.
Despite herself my mother taught me
Even as she sang language into my heart.
So now I drew
Close enough to touch my fingertips to his.
I turned my head.
My lips just brushed his shoulder.
His musky vigour moved me.
I shied away.
My father introduced us.
He started;
That instant in his eyes – and mine –
Recognition.
