Artemis dances, encircling, turning.
She counts out the shape of eternity.
Her forms and movements, aionic measures,
make the beginning and limit of all.
Everything she does is with boundless grace,
descending with vibrations like footfalls.
Beyond those heights, marking sacred measures,
her brother’s firm count reflects her turning.
She, the Hunter of Hours, captures all
as she draws back her bow with quiet grace,
this Devourer below eternity,
where among the nymphs echo her footfalls.
Her song is the tension, the binding; all
know it, the flower of eternity.
In the forest, in the meadow, her grace
contains each thing, the sinusoid turning,
ascent and descent arrow-bound measures,
the generations she slays as footfalls
murmur in the mountains; she kills with grace
before bringing back into birth us all.
We are born again in Gê, whose turning
creates abundance, power — these measures
held within the archer’s eternity.
Bright goddess, still, traveling, your footfalls
sound from high summits to the deep-turning
ocean ravines, divine one, bearing grace.
You hold the boundary of eternity,
Aionic, Khronian, untied, turning;
with each prayer, the soul transcends its measures,
and your inner sanctum swells with footfalls.
Your being opens into depth, no measures,
so sublime it tears breath away and all
falls silent as your fire flowers; you grace
us with shimmering knowing through turning
to look up at star-filled eternity,
at space beyond space, a hall without walls.
I thought up this poem after reading a lot of Proclus, Iamblichus, and physical cosmology, and put it in draft a bit under a month ago. It is an attempt to express something bottomless. On November 1, I cleaned it up so I could offer it to Artemis a few days later on her sacred day.