Sweet Sarah dreamed she sailed alone down River Hebrus where she found sudden love at the center of a liquid mirror that reverberated with the clear perfection of her face—with angelic grace, as done by the master hand of the world’s finest Victorian painter.
The morning sun behind her poured her shadow like honey over daisies sunning themselves in the eastern sky,. Dimension of depth seized the pink and blue clouds over her. While she watched everything around her, she strolled to the lake shore where water nymph lovers made her their maiden queen.
They called her Promise, gave her a throne, and sang songs to her. They presented to her Pandora’s wounded body in a blue world flashing with the decaying sounds of war, whereupon she ordered all sentries to burn their weapons and to lay Pandora alongside the head of Orpheus in the garden of Cupid where Psyche still waits for his kiss beneath a pregnant sky of stars ready to sprinkle down upon her bosom.
And then, around the weddings of children finally thirteen, she tended Pandora’s wounds. With Okeanos’s authority, she forgave Apollo of his crime, healed all hearts and flesh of the blackness of their wicked church, and took away the hour that would be winter eating the earth forever.