Heliast

In the midst of the Agora,
the throne faces the East.
These pillars are made of sky.
This warm wind blesses all things.
Stripped of shield and greaves,
the word is succeeded by silence.

The eyes rest kindly
on uncertain horizons
foretelling the sober ecstasy
of the coming golden dawn.

It is possible to see further
than one thinks they can see
leaning on the invisible
to ward off the surrounding darkness,
to shape this nascent morning.

The song of the first birds
and the intoxicating scent of hyacinths
fill the still-empty streets.
The promise of footsteps is almost nostalgic.

With eyes open or still closed,
Having guided the Sun
through the treacherous night,
my vigil is finally over.