My beloved Helios is leaving, see
how the hem of his robe slips from the tent
as Chaos’ daughter approaches, such
sublime generosity from which they lend
proportion to our world; and it is
our world, Maximus, never theirs who
would call it a mere dominion, our days
but work, our nights but simple sleep,
our lives but weary prologue to the most
dismal eternity ever imagined. I gave
them more Sisyphus than they wanted,
though, didn’t I, when I took our temples