APOLLO E DAFNE

The pristine leaves strike my eye, their forms so delicate,
so fragile behind the visage
of rough travertine and tamed purity.

Her face melts into a mask of despair, of undisguised agony,
pure agony,
her skin soft and smooth with round cheeks like a baby’s.

She is half beauty, half tree, and wholly consumed by desperation.

Even as she leaps forward, she is rooted,
her legs growing scales as the earth grows around her,
snatching her as one of its own
to live and play among the hummingbirds and beds of daisies.

He runs madly,
like the wind is chasing him,
only he is the one chasing the girl who is as elusive as the wind.

Slowly, I stroll around the pinnacle moment trapped in stone,
watching as the scene unfolds before my eyes,
marble figures unaware of their awed audience.

I pause between the two figures, indecision clawing at me
while both characters beg for my sympathy to reside with them,
but I cannot make the choice.

Dafne’s terror makes my heart pound faster
as I nervously twirl my hair into ringlets,
twisting the strands until they are stiff as rope.

My body reels from the shock
of the stabbing pain in Apollo’s heart,
as he watches his love transform.

I turn away at last,
unable to endure the pain of Dafne’s plight and Apollo’s sorrow.

I do not turn back,
until at last Dafne lies in peace,
while Apollo’s heart lies in pieces.