On this cheat grass and lava plateau,
among sun-beaten basalt outcrops
and foraging ravens, it takes some effort
to believe you might speak,
as you did to Odysseus,
his heart grown heavy with travel,
mind moving over the ocean,
black ships at rest in the cove,
their prows pointed home.

The gods we worship today
have grown fat and lazy.
Their clerics speak from on high
in edicts and fatwahs
to minions and knaves.

Athena, daughter of Zeus Kronaides,
come now in your silver slippers,
your arms bared and open.
Appear as a tender girl
or a war-weary soldier. Lead us on
with your passion and wit.

 

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