1 not legend, not history, not one of Jane’s shows: rather, the calliope plays visions onto an empty stage.
A woman sipped from a glass of cherry brandy.
So fine the taste! She found herself lost in contemplation of it.
A surging rose to fill her senses,
Until, like a sailor far into a cherry-colored sea,
Tossed by its swells, rocked by its rage,
She lost all sight of shore.
The world was gone—too delicate a construct,
To stand against an apotheotic force.
Her sky was the spinning of her head, the shaking gray dizziness.
Her sun was the light of its beauty.
And all around her, red, red, red;
And sweet; and rich; and all-empowering;
But she had lost the things she’d known.
She stood in that sea and raised her eyes to see the sky:
Gray clouds blew by.
“I am alone.”
But she spoke a lie, unknowing of the truth;
For on the deck behind her,
A handsome sailor;
And his eyes were full with the sight of her.