Pelopia All that is left of honey is its viscous drift. The rustle of distant leaves is inaudible. The luxuriant hyacinths are as frigid as the palace urns. And the caresses of her partner are dull lacerations. The sword alone gathers no dust. It whispers deliverance. What of the child? A path that demands vigor from her now vaporous feet. Pylades He has known sorrow. But none as deep as Iphigenia’s. She is a caryatid, a support of her family’s ceaseless transgressions. And t

It is high noon. He guides his horses to a holm oak. He is in no hurry. His brothers are scattered throughout the slopes of the mountain. They bask in the sunlight and hardly set an eye on their prey. The hares and the partridges amble near the forgotten bows. It is a day of inactivity. Or, in the paternal words, of communion. They have learned from their father that labor and rest are interwoven gifts. And why should they be skeptical? Cadmea’s walls endure. The opaque luste

Euryanassa Each wave pursues its forebear without pause. She suspects pausing is the great solecism of humankind. Nature cascades, improvises, loves the forward movement. Nature is an unstoppable guarantee of balance. Her life, and all those other lives around her, lies in pauses, gains significance from intrigues, second thoughts, and guesswork. What could she have said to her son? What word could have outlasted his eventual doubt? Had they been as simple as the sea, presenc

She focuses on the discreet dance of her blue drapery — on the rhythmic folding and unfolding, on the interspersed hints of evanescent figures, on the play of light and shadow, on the odd thread that calls attention to the wind’s greater effect. It is clear that the grace of the whole relies on the frantic workings of its minuscule parts. In an instant, the drapery is violently let loose. She cannot even attempt to grab it. A thin branch stops what would have been a long voya

There is a light warmth traveling through his body. It makes him sensible to the blades of grass that have gathered round his contour. A receding current brings a vivifying scent and hints at the presence of a field. He opens his eyes with strange effort. They put forth a variegated blur. His lips are numb, and he surmises his vocal cords have accumulated rust. He straightens up, realizing almost immediately that his whole body shares the subdued weakness. As he is about to f