Alexander solved his problem with a bloodless sword
dividing the famous knot, tearing at its inter-lacings
until they split into a hundred remnants of hemp,
then married his generals off to Mesopotamian maidens
because he could not be wed to himself.

Red desire flowed through his heart a few months more
until perilously ill with dengue fever
the desert poisoned him with its perfect solitude
and halted his endless march at thirty-three.

But for a single profile on one authentic coin
there’s no other Alexandrine portrait we can trust.
Istanbul’s empty sarcophagus supports the rumor
of a more final journey, his body dropped into the sea
of deep caverns where he still receives piscine worship
by glowing mouths and blind eyes to the present day.