Seeing Theseus for the first time, Ariadne
Longed for him. But now it hurt to draw breath
On desolate Naxos, the island also called Dia.
Water flowed by, as Artemis killed her there.
And Bromius, who is called Dionysus, protested
And made from the circle of her tiara new stars.
The princess unraveled, undid her heavy sash,
Undid the golden thread, descending to Acheron.
The rumor of the Minotaur could not be avoided:
Forgetfulness as a curse on the one who killed it.
Ariadne and her god-like body still marooned;
Aegeus the King, who threw himself from a cliff
And split the Aegean, salt water, his legacy.
Theseus grew longer, thinner day by day
Elongated almost, as if he were pulled
Like a strand of flax through worried fingers.
Upright like a switch he reasoned best,
It would be lovely, Ariadne holding a thread,
Holding him.
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