Deep in the heart she knew the pulse of bonds
with ancient souls who understood her pain,
and was the thump like of a pelting song,
of rain cadenced on her window and lane.
She was a deity many years before,
the yew on basalt rocks and vines of grape,
on slate were carved her traces and limestone,
Blue Pelagos before oblivion's drape.
Of ancient gods Axiokersa by name,
on Samothrake island was worshipped
recalls the sacred cataracts in rain,
ethereal maid of lightning, on slopes dripped.
A flight of thousand solitudes and years,
her voice became a falling mistle that sung,
the everlasting call of mountains in tears,
the spring that roils on basalt slopes, drops flung.
Her Aquila Heliaca air-clings,
for Axiokersa appears on peaks,
souls guides to sail on seas' immortal links,
to celebrate with mysteries and creeks.
© G. V. 01-13-2012, All Rights Reserved