A satyr babe, abandoned on the mountain
still a kid
                                      at the end of the day
                                      despite it all.

A crack in the rock, a perfume rolling out
and maidens, attending
        a maiden
                          a woman, really

with a duty to sit and to see the visions
who had no choice
                                      chosen from birth
                                      to whom the visions came.

And now a goat-child, beside her on the ground
ever-present, ever-listening:

For not even 

                          an Oracle 
could fail to hear his cries and leave 
an infant abandoned on the hill,

for not even 

                          an impish satyr babe 
could fail to hear the whispers of the wind 
in the rock, 

        from this world 


                                                                  and the next.