Virgil, Shannon Winestone (December 2025)

Virgil

I
Did you see me fall like lightning,
Virgil—surveyor of the heavens? I came
To play a profane chord for man,
Or so the gods have said.

But Virgil, Virgil, I dreamt you spoke
In tongues with words I could not form
When I sang to them my anguished tales of pain
And my hymns to Dionysus—

Hymns of mourning and of mania, my veins all ice
And napalm. I dreamt the sun was black,
I dreamt the sea was blood, I dreamt
The earth was splintered, I dreamt of Satan's men.

II
Show me the gorge and the waterfall.
Beguile me with scents of lilac and damask,
Of mountain woods and olive groves,
And with Poseidon's endless tide.

Show me the synagogues of Cordoba,
And sing me an Andalusian lay.
Show me the minarets of Cordoba,
And share your hallowed strains with me.

Show me the high priest and his blossoming rod.
Show me the pillars in the temple of God.

 Originally published in The Lyric