Figure of Aeolus

They found you under twenty feet

of loose ash — one vowel

solo in an archipelago

of strung-out vowels and doting volcanoes — 

Isole Eolie — O hoop

of exhilaration, O sigh of relief

softening your votive mouth

if not blowing off steam

at the crater rim, crystalizing sulfur,

poring over tomes, the trade winds

and furies that fan through your realm,

O citizen-king, O sonorous persona

weaned on fumes and that old

itinerant intonation — air

your woes all over again.