Soul experiences are oft best realized alone,
When an intuitive voice states where only
I may tread, rushing winds amongst hilltop
Spruces roar like towering waterfalls.
Beneath this cold transparent sky, I feel
beckoning from an ancient past, moonlit
Clouds scudding overhead on Acadia
Mountains, collision of time and fates,
Tonight archaic Greece descends on these
Familiar granite slopes.
Visions of sunlit clouds coalescing above
Apollo Epikourios, Mount Kotylion, heavenly
Metéora, rising into sky, pastel blues and
Lavenders, temple porticos beyond reach,
My hands are that of another, slim and olive-
Skinned, O! How past lives of Greek ages
Were hidden from my sight, where gods and
Heroes once gleamed. How ancient strains
Fill my heart with splendorous joys tonight.
Music of lyre and flute, mystic temple oracle,
Blesséd insight, sacred healing springs in
Cedar groves, offerings of fruit and flowers,
Burnt animal sacrifice, smoke rising to cloud-
Residing gods, entrails read to faithful in
Chanting verse, blood-collecting altar bowls,
Knowledge from godly heights, trees swoon
In Apollo’s presence, Holy Helper, graces his
Inner noas, healing sick and injured with
Divine thoughts and radiant light.
When I awakened, cold and weak, dawn glim-
Mered on broad Gulf of Maine, my soul
Catapulted seven centuries to present day.
On these dizzying rocky heights, fear not my
Love, I will not abandon you, for in solitude
I stood fast on this glacier-scarred precipice,
Time shuttering at my feet, heavy grind of ice
Sheets, these mountains withstood, for us a
Dozen childhoods, as many agéd deaths, our
Twained souls bathed in Apollo’s eternal light.
Whilst on the World Heritage list, Temple of Apollo Epikourios,
a limestone-columned structure located in Greek Arcadia,
is covered by white tents to enable conservation work, thus
use of the above photo. This poem relates Maine’s Acadia
and Arcadia region of Greece.