For nearly three millennia,
perched upon an isolated mount overlooking hills and plains –
resplendent now with figs of India,
fields of melons, yellow skinned with mint-white flesh,
and vines of Bacchus closely cropped –
The temple of the golden goddess
received the supplicant and wayfarer.

From there (some say) next to the stars,
the Cyclops hurled the Farallones
that threatened brave Ulysses.
From that ancient womb a magic city, dedicated to her, grew -
a center of the Magna Grecia.

Her temple now in ruins,
the priestesses of sacred rite dispersed,
Still the goddess beckons searching spirits
filled with passion for more worldly wisdom.
Entering the ancient walls,
once celebrated by the poet of the birth of Rome,
the modern pilgrim still may be transformed.

Thus was I enchanted by the goddess,
her charge to me to seek to sing
the joys and pains of her devotions.
Some songs are evocations,
Some songs are introspections,

Each song an exploration
of the labyrinths and convolutions
of encounters archetypal
with Venus, Vesta, and the Muse.
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Watercolor