I, lovely Adonis, rest my head on this smooth marble table,
my harp beside me.
All is white.
This life has suddenly turned from a joyously unexpected triumph,
clear waters of destiny bathing me,
into a heavy syrup with no answers.
Hypnos and Dionysus provide me relief
when I can take Sol and Chronos no longer.
Adonis I am.
Beautiful, often only to myself.
While I occupy my chariot
my harp echoes in my mind.
When the carriages of those whom I have made my enemies draw near,
my muscles swell. My pupils tighten.
I feel the pull of the bloody dance, and will nearly have it
until the child reminds me what pain feels like.
I often change my ways for him.
When the blessed sigh,
they doubt their eternal treasure.
When the damned laugh,
they try to chase away their hell.
Our defeats are only momentary.
All the reason in the world to grasp for what we want.
The corners of my mind whispering:
“it’s not worth the trouble, just let it fly away.”
My birds are too important and too beautiful to me to lose them.
Time, like air, refuses to be grasped.
They slip out of my tightened fist like a pile of sand.
No matter. The sweat in my palm catches crystalline grains.
I will collect them.
I will build my castle yet.