Gaiēochos

And the ocean was made of lazuli.
Immaculate blue, anticipated home of the lost souls.
Spells in your palms, hexes in my tongue:

Ποσειδῶν, behold, behold.

The unseen force from beneath the core.
Landlord of the perished ones.
Your poetic mouth, and healing hands are the key to the solemnity of her black winter.
Πλούτωνος, gathering golden coils and haywires from the streets of deserted woods.
Be quiet.

Ἀΐδας, destroy, destroy.

I long for a Mediterranean summer, and flaming wheels.
Not a single drop of tears.
My clymenus thoughts are still drifting with your eubuleus minds.
The butterfly on your wrist is slowly departing to south.
Charon, take my obolus as you sail the empty flows.
And let me be your last mnemosyne.

Gē Γῆ, bless me, bless thee.