I still glow in shades of rose and gold
in the aftermath of a gorgeous sunrise
that slowly but surely crept under my skin
while I watched Sol seize control of the day.
And while today I proudly wear my new
daytime skin, tonight as Sol descends
I will shed it in favour of cobalt and flashes of silver
and pay tribute to Mani on her lonely ride.
I get fearful
of the havoc you create
when the impatient
wind of your adronitis
rattles the hinges
of my barricaded doors,
when your insatiable
hunger for closeness
drives you to illicitly
override my security protocols,
when your husky voice
demands revelation
of every shred of misery
Pandora’s box has to offer.
I get frantic
when you’re on the hunt
for the black-winged goddess,
safely tucked away within.
Those were the good times
when they observed the night skies
for the gleaming moon chariot,
watching me goad my lovely horses
across the heavens at full speed.
When they secretly hoped to catch me
in a little intermezzo on Mount Latmus
with the beautiful Endymion,
fool he is for choosing his eternal sleep.
With melancholy I remember the times
when a total eclipse of the moon
was fearfully thought of as a sign
they had incurred my seething wrath.
Now they have all sorts of telescopes
and call watching me science,
I curse you, Philolaus, for diminishing
the omnipotence of the gods.
And if only Zeus were not so tame now
involved with other worlds,
and such a stickler for rules,
I would conjure up a little something
to turn your sciences upside down.
november child 