Last glow of the great god’s chariot, not
the chariot itself, but radiance,
and heat so intense, it’s somehow begot
those columns we call clouds in their slow dance
across the eyelash of our horizon.
Up there on the right: those charcoal-grey wings
attached to amber, disk-shaped breast. An angel,
perhaps? A goddess – Artemis hunting
her brother, perhaps – following angled
beams of his chariot’s fire? Your legions
of images lead me to poetry
tonight. Consider humans’ gallantry
in honoring gods, in how they allow
us to still survive their powerful glow.
Roger Armbrust
October 24, 2016
