Why the Minotaur is Always Sad

So many years underground,
his head dizzy from bumping all those memory-clouds.
Always to be the centrepiece
of someone else’s puzzle.
His endless consumption of women
didn’t help much.
And so this morning he has arrived in his kingdom:
a wise gathering of rocks,
a little girl trying to paint flowers on the pebbles
but the waves keep washing them clean,
his chair opposite the ocean,
the tree with its gaze that says
        “I too have lived elsewhere.”