to the left of Mars, she dances, a little girl in pink
and gold, set on fire and sent
to lead a merry chase
westward, towards a tiny, rotting edge
of the Empire. she blows kisses
of milky sparks, and you must scour
your books and divine her route.
nights are thick as days, garishly bright
with her shameless joy: a holy ache,
a wild and tireless purpose. Do not lose
her! Latch your hook
into this fierce Chariotress,
and race to the City of Kings.
This fragment was partially inspired during yesterday morning, during the Feast of the Epiphany. My musings on this beautiful and bewildering season have washed over into today.