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.