to Maryann and Maenads

I sit upon the stairs of the Temple of Saturn,
looking out unto the gray vista.
Heat waves off of the still pool.
I pray for rain, but there are no clouds with which to carry.
Now, after I have known Aphrodite, I dream of Pan.
Moist skin, my hair hanging limply wet against my face and neck.
Damp sheets curl around the musk of the night.
No cloying jasmine perfumes the zephers tonight.
Encased in shadows, in stillness, in dark, I move.
Down through the layers of dreaming and sleep,
to the place in between, where cords of tension pull.

Not a priestess of Aphrodite, no, but Warrior kith.
Persephone drops the seeds of her red tears,
one by one into the pool.
And here in the Temple of Saturn I wait,
for the train of Time will come for me.
I shoulder my sword, glistening in the moonlight,
A sharpened edge, keen and watching, on point.
Sushumna, and then, sleep.