The Death of Archimedes

Slaughter’s swarming stench; fire’s ashen fall.
The indulgent Mediterranean sun
Of his childhood scorched the small grasses,
Burned his balding head. Smoke and screams freckled
The betrayed city’s seascape.
                                         Archimedes
Knelt in the dirt, flush with the excitement
Like when he cracked the mystery of pi
Tracing the inside of his lover’s thigh,
Observed the wonder of the world in numbers.

He did not see the sword’s long gray shadow.
He did not see the soldier garbed in Rome,
Except, perhaps, as a slight shadowing
Of his formula deliberately carved
In Syracuse’s streets.
                              No, he did not
See or refused to grant a thought to that sword
Severing head from body, heart from purpose—
A formula ripped of its solution
And stamped by the soldier’s boot back to dust,
Back to mystery. Blood brooding on the sand.