Horus Forgave Prometheus

Driving into an area
where the sun drapes darkened benches
when the moon’s lost its light to campfires
when I learn-see again…
Underneath the sheen of the Milky Way
herein fairies roam and dwell;
for, they seek something similar strange…

Aged carvings tell pillared stories:
a birded flight of winged Isis
mounts a specter
named phallus
Removed from Osiris
whose twelve pieces
reassembled nearly whole
on cold unforgiving stony slab
He somehow begets a sun:
rising on the horizon is Horus

I AM Horus!, says he.
A hore of us is part of us
and we move on into the we of us
Here we reside
for most of the time
between
But, she runs
beyond the stars
on a sunlit wave step
that I could not reach
not on the sunnestmost beach…

In disobeyance, I dream
Not out of will or a need to try
rather out of the coursing energy surrounding
I see myself
a thousand pieces strewn about
Every one of them tells a lie
about the whole
My Promethean slumber sees
on the mountaintop
I’m starkly dismembered
Though in nightly dreams
I’m rightly remembered
Gusts blow beyond fire
as images stir and twist
Ashes transform
from the former alive.

Invigorating fire—I hear a sound
past the inane,
in the midst of what was once sparking fire,
a lady’s cry answered by buffoonish antics
related to putting out a fire—
what I see here is
plentiful loving fire,
regardless the winds
that treacherously overtake fire,
rather fire that one could warm themselves over

And we build our fire
with the logs that remain
Reveling in the warmth
and light that is reborn
out of Prometheus’ flesh
and suffering
for us…