Is she dead?

 Yes, she is dead.

             Did you forgive her?

It is as if dawn pliantly compels
The city to relax to sounds and shapes,
To its diagonals and parallels

If there was breeze and open sky,
We raked each swath into a row;

Now that my desires suit my powers
I find a splendid past in this present

All my life I’ve had goals to go after, goals
in a molten distance.

Be one again, her crispen crystalline
Arithmetic raveled and riddled in Time,

Dawn at that hour
Brought on her kindly light for ill mankind,
Arousing men to labor and distress.

At the end of a long journey, I can still see that corridor, that moleskin, that warm shadow crossed by breezes pure as small children sent by the sea foam

Eternal Aphrodite, Zeus’s daughter, throne
Of inlay, deviser of nets, I entreat you:
Do not let a yoke of grief and anguish weigh

But God gets away with it time and time again
And gets adored for doing it as well