I walk upon the treacherous road into the impressions
of a gardener’s boots, each of his depressions
colossal beside the delicate footprints of a girl
who learned to walk upon eggshells, in her mother’s tread
now marching in my brother’s stead, crowned
in laurels, a precious bounty
upon my head. I am Artemis, maiden
goddess of the hunt, laden with purpose
to lead my nymphs through the midnight wood
and slay the beasts man never could. But still they call me
only sister of Apollo, the glorious sun,
for the moon’s daughter shall never be the son
who slays the python, and against the fathomless night,
as I guide my sisters to meet this fight, I question
if this silver sliver of beauty can fulfill her sworn duty
and illuminate this path with peaceful light.
