On The Threshold of CreationDaughter of Hecate,I was born upon the thresholdof one year and the next:a tiny earthen creature,awash in a sea of stars.Too late did I rememberCapricorn is the goat withthe tail of a fish,and perhaps my legs were never meantto tread upon the earth.I've heard tellthat Saturn is the harshest master,and will never be satisfiedby words alone.In the beginning I was sure-footedas the goat who glitters in stars above me,ideas sprung full-grown from my head,as Athena born from ZeusToo late do I recallthat prophecy foretold,Zeus' own creationwould surpass even him.I'm still trying to puzzle outwhether my own creationwill surpass me, and live on,or destroy me altogether.Yet still I weave my words,and endeavor to make Athena proud.She beckons me home,tall and stern from woven banner:tempts me with promises of "Eureka",and still I pray, to any who would hear methat my living words will whisper"non omnis moriar."
Cosmic SymphonyThe notes build up deep within youburning at your coresnaking through your veins until your skin hums red-hot with fire.They say the sun is hottestwhen you are just barely out of reach.It is there you shall ignite.But if I managedto slip past your blistering coronapast the halo of light that surrounds you -and stroke your scorching surfacewould I find the rightto burn with you?And maybeI could learn to play youlike the instrument you are.Helios, god of the sun,your surface shudders with sound,melodious vibrationsunfit for such ears as mine.Yet still I wonder what you would sound likeif my hands would not
Birdsong, thin and tremblingI recoil to think of family, terrible and piercingsong of past seasons,of we were children onceof they will die one dayThe distance between isa fragile thing,thin-boned, small-throated,wings a-fluttering
WergildThe hoard was a modest thing, but she tore into it hungrily. Here were her mothers' brooches, amber necklaces, carved daggers, arm rings.The crows watched, feasting on the hoard she had left for them: a burned village for a burned village.