I hymn you, O Goddess for whom
each star dances dynamic,
mentor of the Horai,
bride of vigilant Nyx,
daughter of chasmic Khaos
flung forth like an expanding inhalation,
daughter of Hera who formed
when Herakles reached to touch
her splendid breast with his infant mouth,
half-sister of Persephone
whose keys unlock an infinity of meadows,
Goddess who is yet nameless.
O rhythmic composer,
first mathematician who counts out
each cycle of orbit,
lady of the thousand million wombs
where protostars drink their fill in natal nebulae,
you who sets the fixed stars
for each luminous body at ler birth,
the pattern of ler garland of planets,
the system’s seasons of cataclysm and flourishing.
You make the long count
of each galactic year,
and you are yet a graveyard,
stellar remnant stele within you,
those echoes of allotted lives
beneath the shining light of the stars’ care
entombed in the husks that remain.
O Goddess who leads the celestial daimones
who swarm close as bees traversing a honeycomb,
who grants the gift of leadership to pure souls,
nurse of heroes who bring unquenchable fire,
hail and listen, great provider,
O giver and taker of life.
🌌
KALLISTI 
