Tanagra

The simplest waves of golden ages are

Sustained and thoughtful. Yours was one of these,

That clothed you in ceramic drapery

And fixed your earthen gaze on Theban stars.

Since you were cast to see as a statue sees,

Change you cannot support you will ignore,

The muse of future and classic terrors,

Descent, the path to perpetuity.

Invoke it, and wear that myth as one more

Mantle. You do not breathe but are not dead,

And help the aspirant dream the truth he dreads,

Who stand in fluted robes on modern shores,

A single column, capital your head,

That bears the pondered weight of what we are.