Sleepless After Ovid
The moon, just past the full, slips off the sky
Behind me while the sun's still at my feet,
And for a time that famous crowd swings high
And clear and bright, no sight so darkly sweet—
Or strangely dark. There reels Callisto, raped
And spurned and murdered, never let to rest—
And there Andromeda, who only escaped
Because a child of rape swerved from his quest—
It''s colder when the heavens clear at night,
But not so cruel as it clearly seemed
In stories told two thousand years ago
In exile by a man who couldn't know
The stars were suns far older than he dreamed
But still too young to flood the sky with light.
No sonnet tomorrow—I'm playing music.
11:57:56 PM
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