by Diane Fahey
When she awakens she knows he has gone —
the sun hero sailing into the sun;
she watches till he is swallowed by light.
The sea deepens beneath her, drags at her feet;
her outstretched hands hold only the wind.
Waving, they bid farewell, not to Theseus,
but herself, as helper, believer, giver
of the symbols by which he conquered.
Now her arms weave a spiral, her body
a dance, as the music within her
possesses the island. The revellers
she conjured are thronging, exulting,
as Dionysus confronts her: lost source,
new beginning; counterpart in the dance.
Last updated January 14, 2019