ANABASIS

We straggle forward.
The line
Elongated as the weak
Slow,
A wounded snake stretched from the fore horizon, to the rear horizon,
I am too fagged to look at.

What is that sound?
We have heard pursuers,
The gritted wind,
Vultures.

What is the sound?
Like an echo, but
Unlike an echo, since
It grows louder.

To our harsh desert
Where a thousand Greeks
Strew their bald corpses
This sound sings down the line.

Hearken, brothers, hearken:
Pass back the strong men's shout,
"The Sea, the Sea".