Sun gods fear noon. Hate how the bull
Shifts at the most minute erosion of the sand
And assaults his shadow, how the goatboy full
Of lyrics eyes the changing sky, and
All the priests can ask is where’s Apollo.
And here’s this Traveller, returned somehow,
With his collection of continents. The glow
Of Horus’ Eye upon his coat is muted now
But his strings recall the dancer stirred.
At this edge of sea, these early hills,
He puts it all down, rests the loyal herd
That bore him young to all these thrills.
He has a different eye now, not yet sad;
Beneath the jests, the funny hats that hide his brow,
He yearns, yearns for stronger good or bad,
Demands Well? Who, where are my gods now?
