Medea's Ashes

The crowd is drawn like magnets Drawing flecks of finely splintered steel. They stand and stare At smoke-choked, charred remains- Magnificent Medea. Her ashes slowly blow like dust Upon Atlantic breezes Rushing over achromatic beaches Soon to rest on Adirondac majesty. Death is silent still like Medea's Ashes on the evening winds. And in the early dusk that follows dust One sooted shape is left; Like a child makes an angel in the snow. Bouquets of roses spread upon The ground around black-sooted angel - Aromatic, multicolored sweet bouquets, Giving vivid dignity to death in final pose. A tall thin man with thick white hair Stands straight and still Above the remnants of his queen; He once was hero and marine In distant wars before Medea Stole his soul and made it whole. The cattails cluster'd round Medea's marbled pond Are crying muted cries As they bend and bow to something Larger than their friend upon the wind. A single night-hawk flying by Ackowledges the cattail's cry As it dives above narcissi trumpets waving - Modulated bright and bulbous yellow In the twilight's dim and faded light.