THE WEAVE:

Mars is still spying on

the Nymphs, dancing on

the ferry, when a shimmering

hand, covers his eyes. Moonie

whispers in his ear…

"The mind is
a fine-tuned instrument,
but finicky

on the front lines
of incident.
Stuck in the muck

of may, havoc, and must be.
Bent on redemption
and a fair exchange,

as if give and take is
an even game. It's
all about the output.

Find a Way to outlast
it.  An itchy feeling?
Don't scratch it.

Don't make a task 
of catching shadows,
they breathe too

shallow..."



"...Does this mean,
you're going to let me go?"
Mars whispers back, panting
as a bead of sweat, slithers
down his neck.

"Yes," the Moon replies,
"There's an escape
dingy on the port side
of the deck.  Athena is
in the bathroom.  You have 5 minutes
 to get the fuck off
this ferry, before the Nymphs
stone you to Death,
in violation of
their sacred rituals."

Mars bolts so fast,
all the Nymphs see is the swinging
door.  As if he were a gust
of Wind, he's gone.