To Methe

I sing now to Methe, joyful and unrestrained,
goddess who knows the worth of pleasure, the value
of forgetfulness. Yours is the flow of words,
the loosening of the tongue; yours is merriment
and good cheer, the heady sweetness of the wine,
the wild-hearted dance, the fire of ecstasy,
the rule of the heart, impulse obeyed,
stories that never end, tales only true
in the telling. Companion of Dionysos,
you travel with his retinue, you follow in his wake;
we know you in the brimming cup, the stumbling step,
an evening’s evanescent grace. I honor you, O Methe.

To Kairos

I call to Kairos, great god of opportunity,
youngest son of thundering Zeus, yours is the moment seized,
the chance swiftly taken; yours is the eye that sees
where luck may land, the arrow loosed, the race well-run.
Beautiful Kairos, fair of face, you appear without warning
and must be grasped, swift and sure, for in an instant
you are gone. We cannot summon you, O god,
or tell where you may go, but only watch for you
with care and hope to know you when you come–
a flash of certainty, a spark that may ignite a flame
or may be lost to darkness. I pray to you,
O Kairos, that when you come I may not hesitate.