The Peering Aphrodite
Under a hallowed, star-stoked night,
Aphrodite traces her playful breath across a window scorched with rain.
Peering in, seeking the homely sight of courting lovers,
She flutters to their warmth like some ruffled moth,
Sheltering from the beat of the wind;
Laughing softly, she delights,
She smacks her lips,
At the thought of so many mortal heart-strings;
Being played and playing under artful fingers.
Cold marble she does not love,
Nor the acrid stench of flaming bulls,
Her gentle cunning eyes, lighting lips with a spell;
With a song-strapped word,
How she adores the unfurling of dreams:
The flooding of human heart with bubbling lovely longing.
But this isn’t magic; it’s the very language of life;
The tingling of the sap, the opening of crisp leaves;
The darting of birds, all of this is your treasure, oh Lady of the window ledge.
From behind cold glass,
She nudges a lover’s gentle figures
To anoint a world-weary head with golden oil
And ply some dry lips with the cooling quench of wine.
In the spin and dance of the hours,
Their tanned thighs slacken,
Swaying and bending like beautiful red cedars;
And as night draws towards the dawn,
Their arms linger in forgetfulness,
And their eyes enchant in one another,
Joined like the strings of a lyre.
All worship should be considered as one. We look on the same stars, the sky is common, the same world surrounds us. What difference does it make by what pains each seeks the truth? We cannot attain to so great a secret by one road- Symmachus