The moon sits by her dancing maze
And spins her thread like spider’s silk.
She speaks of heroes, dreams of death,
And shows the dancers where to tread.
The planets one by one step up
And take the thread and dance the maze.
They face the sky and vault him high:
His horns are sharp and stained with blood.
The dancers keep a pounding beat,
They feel the earth beneath them groan.
The sky demands his sacrifice:
He tastes the pulse within them flow.
The golden crown of Thetis glints.
The moon will weep to feel its weight.