Εὖρος

Act I

When the last of Fall has lain itself between the crumbling leaves,

And the final rush of heat has masked that season of sleep,

I will remember the way the eerie fog slipped between your fingers - fine terracotta,

Something to behold, there on the banks; that azure vein - split and rejoined,

My hands, as guided, gilding the night, as I'd done a thousand times before,

Though you were, yes, you were, the catalyst for conjuring something aching to take form,

A kind of marrow I'd marry my bones to, a kind of sublimation, 

That turned my superciliousness to supplication - sweet and succinct,

Distinctive and unique, a power unlike that you'd come to taste,

In the lips, in the lines, of that mistral taking flight, here again we brace the tide,

Where river meets sea, a seasoned eye o'er the spray, the salt, the brackish deed,

I can see you through the pages, not as veiled as you believe,

That call to allow, that prayer to be read, that hushed voice amidst the reeds,

A sublimation indeed.