In Hrana’s painting, you are brown, smiling, zaftig,
a sheaf of wheat for the goats in each hand.
My sister from ancient times. Queen of Heaven!
Mother of the Sea!
It’s April, and Artemis, Her long thighs
glowing brown and bare,
strides through the forest, almost silent,
Her sleek dogs with Her, silent too.
O Crone who travels between the worlds,
help me to imagine!
How, o how, will this beautiful world
call me once again
“It is 2016,” say the rows of peaches,
all in bloom, orangey-pink, on this Spring morning.
“We billow out our petals, our sweet fragrance,
and later, our piquant, sweet-and-sour fruit,
Evening at the beach,
six of us sing with delight, pouring ourselves into the surf, Aphrodite’s lacy foam blessing us.
Two turn back to home, because today, just this day, this Sunday June evening full of light, is the perfect day for wind.
Two bright rainbow kites, one short, one long, unfurl into the sky as if born there.