7. Wine of Maron.

Distilled sunlight, drugged with red earth scent,
cicada-song, lavender, thyme, flecks of mica, the
cries of dying men. They poured it from slaughter into
twelve amphorae. There is a techne for distilling
blood and prayer. That wine has the texture of honey.
It catches the light. Apollo approves. It will keep
you from harm.

8. Kirke's Swine.

And that is our nature, as well. Did you think we
were all light, air, fire and mind? Light can
precipitate into flesh, we are driven into solids,
solidly driven, we forget our names, this too is holy:
the olive tree suffers a paroxysm, and sky thickens to
lard. If you claim not to know this, you're lying.
Come here.

9. Antikleia's Shade.

He must always leave her behind, she must pursue him.
It is his job to outgrow her and to hurt her to death.
She is a shade now, reaching out to him. When was she
not a shade? She was flesh, bone and strapping pain
when he rammed his way out of her womb. Ever since,
she has faded, into substantial air. And yet he needs
her, that too is in the contract. Needs her hand on
his brow. So he can turn, strongly, and leave again.