Watch, like depraved Pan from the shore,
when the great swan under his beating wings
takes Leda, begetting the crimson future
in the womb of her whose sighs
or sobs are lost in the mating;
history that bleeds across the years
like virgin blood is uncaring of fear or desire,
whether maiden lust brings the knife
to Clytaimnestra's avenging hand
or ravishing of innocence drives the sails to Troy
carrying Helen. They are all already
dust in the evening dusk, those
that will hatch on stage where tragedies
are played, when the great swan floats
away in the dusk and in an another beating
of the wings, rising, flies to Olympos.
17.12.2025
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