Remembering Orion
I wish I understood.
I wonder if Apollo ever understood Artemis, as close as they were, although that’s certainly not the love to which I aspire, and, of course, I’m no Apollo. But then, except for Orion, that’s as close as Artemis ever came to love (if she ever did) so I guess my quest ought not to be to find her Artemis within, Artemis was not that kind to would be lovers.
So, …
How do I pierce her veil, reach her heart, touch her soul, kiss her lips?
I think we’re different in many, many ways but I’m not really sure. I hope we’re at least complimentary; it would be pretty bad otherwise. I certainly feel the irresistible attraction of opposites, magnetically mesmerizing, drawing me in as if I were a mote and she the singularity at the core of my cosmos, her gravity triumphant.
But I despair at piercing her veil. She’s opaque. Outwardly open but mostly obscured. That’s probably not good. I need to know who it is I love. Right now the only thing I know is that my love lies unfulfilled. Perhaps she loves me too but I can’t really say.
Or, remembering Orion, might that be too perilous, at least right now?
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© Guillermo Calvo Mahé; Manizales, 2013; all rights reserved