“Unwelcome Confidences,” Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema, 1902, WikiArt.

Part 1: Glorious Bright Glances

Our customs, rituals primitive, festivals,
Feasts, beliefs mystical, living deities,
Walking, teaching us, yet approach their
Radiance we could not, even shy goddess,
Cyllene, domain of forest-sequestered
Streams, watery arm extended, glorious
Bright glances, all nature bore her flame,
Corporeal laws broken-bent, time-unhinged,
Crafty twisting turns, when ancient world
Braved forth new, ensnarling me, Cosimia,
With modest sylvan-glade Cyllene.

Strong oath I had sworn, not sharing this
Account, except in poetry, urn buried, I,
Cosimia, contrived unearthing in future
Life, cradled infant, incorrigible child,
Verses loud-burning upon youthful heart
And tongue. For now by fated-ironies, I am
Unborn, neither dead nor alive, awaiting
Rebirth, maternal watery throes. Hand-
Maiden to immortal one, Cyllene, no prayers
Or praise could wrest me from awakened-
Sleep of enchanted sunlit groves.

“In the Tepidarium,” Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema, 1881, WikiArt.

Laurel branches for head-resting, my place
Lower steps of outer porticoes, unnumbered
Months enduring rain and wind, whilst goddess
Passed ambrosia days, fur-draped bed nude
Reclining, before her, finest wines, tables
First fruits overflowed, honeyed bread, fig
Brass bowl my daily fare. “O! Cruel mistress,
How may I serve you?” asked I, unwashed at
Feet of ethereal light, Cyllene responded by
Unbridled locks, sweet water flowing, fount
Welling, entangling me to her, tree and vine.

“I am unborn, neither dead nor alive, awaiting rebirth, maternal watery throes…”
Cosimia enters another plurality of self with goddess Cyllene. Written whilst
listening to Blade Runner “2049”  on two devices, one several seconds ahead of
the other. Thanks for reading.

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