Goddess Remorse

The stray eye pierces this great tumult;

Into song, flower, ire— Our tumbling by his presence-vision— distilled, and is.

A perhaps-hand reaches out,

But crushed by the weight of Crown:

Cover, O muds of Demeter, these derelict towns!

This world is not captured, but floodwaters gathered in an eye.

The gash of you, O unfound king, our last nectar, expires.