Day's end, sun's caisson doth wend
Residual rays a respite to append
Twilight's shroud dreary dividend
Swirls of gray into firmament blend

Vestments of light shed sacral veil
Luna's naked, pale orb flashes its spell
Twinkling sprites across dark tides sail
Constellation's mystical portents braille

Nyx, Erebos eclipse Hemera's blithe melody with bass duet 
Earth's warmed bed yields its thermal blanket
Ocean tides move in rhythmic tandem to cadence of lunar clarinet
Swarming shadows stalk each footstep paring each dark secret


   Greek gods
Nyx: goddess of Night
Erebos: goddess of Darkness
Hemera: goddess of Day

Idália:
Deixas que a escuridão para si atraia louvores
E os primórdios tempos de harmonia vês morrendo?
Pois presenta-nos com tão quanto as negras flores
Que nos claros campais permite-as crescendo
Pendem-se clarões, fervem-se suspiros em dores
Doura a natureza, vem fortuna de clamores

Helios prepared his golden steeds,  
Each huffing and pawing at the waves of Oceanus,  
Alectrona raised her arms, and Eos woke from her slumber.  

The chariot was lashed to his stallions,  
And slowly, the sun god rose.  

Eos spread her fingers across the sky,  
And as he rose, a fiery flare bringing day,  
Threads of pink illuminated the clouds as purple ribbons split the darkness.  

Phanes lent Helios light as he rose on the mountain in the sky,  
Orange twined its way through fields of blue,  
A blazing scythe that cut away everything but itself.  

Clouds that had formed by Zeus were gathered like birds,  
And as Helios passed, they lit from within with scarlet joy,  
And the laughter of Tethys echoed as she made the white fleece of the heavens.  

Farther and farther he climbed the mountain in the sky,  
And the heavens turned a bright blue,  
The orange scythe that had cut away the onyx and navy fields  
Faded away to return the next day.

When at last day had truly begun,  
And Hemera had truly awakened,  
There was only a purple horizon,  
By that mountain in the sky.

The junk’s steam engine replaced with moving vent ***** the long ship glided from the mooring toward open water. Bob was on deck preparing to inform everyone of his scheme when from the dock came the cries of the little nun running at breakneck pace in her cumbersome black garb. Behind her and closing in a hostile mob carried raised torches and pitchforks in a sun being overshadowed by an ill-timed eclipse.
Several of the men swinging ropes as if a witch could be hanged more than once; but the vicious townsfolk were mistaken. Sister Ramera a faithful woman of god raised by nuns from birth and knowing no other way of life, was about to be lynched before their eyes as the ship slipped away from the dock. Using his distorter Bob was on the pier with the girl but now they were both cornered, open water at their backs.
Perry jumping across deck leapt into the Leaping Lizzie and brought her straight into the air. The townsfolk instantly distracted by the high oblong shadow with jointed tentacles for legs. The sounds of the screams outpaced the stampeding boots as every person fled in blind terror. Bringing the flying vessel gently to the dock Perry appeared from the hatch.
“It doesn’t look good for your friend, Bob. She’d better come with us. Her life is in certain danger if she stays here on Tierre Firme.”
“You heard the man, shall we go?” said Bob gamely.
Taking a last look at what would be her birthplace in another fifty years, Ramera saw the destroyed and satanically reconstructed brick church for what it really was; a dark pit leading to a darker emptiness. She had grown from an infant to a child into a woman. Now she was only a woman. The very last Hemera el Iglesia de Santa Papá Noel; the last Sister of the Order of Santa Santa. Bob and Perry assisting her into the crabshell, she settled in a heap of heavy black material as Perry took the controls and they lifted off. Perry and Bob eyeing one another knowing full well she wasn’t going to go around in habit and wimple. Ramera knew it too. What were Orders when there was no longer any order; when the devil had possessed the ground itself and turned the building into a synagogue of Satan.

The Green Belle’s crew having shown the local population what hell might look like, the ship stayed safely moored in the harbor. Bob had struck up an affectionate relationship with the lonely sister. Seeing monsters rebuild the church bathed in the glowing full moon’s light she could think she had died but she couldn’t decide whether she’d been sent to heaven or hell. The fuzzy paws holding her were real; furry and warm and bringing it to her trembling lips kissed the soft pad. “You see, I told you god had not abandoned you,” he purred nuzzling his cold nose in her ear.
“You are diablo, Roberto. I ‘ave never met such a cat.”
She was letting him feel beneath her loose fitting habit as the moon waned and a powdery blue dawn began to show at the window. She thought he’d burst into flames in the sun’s golden rays. That was her sole excuse for letting him have his way. She thought all black cats disappeared at dawn.
“You have me mistaken, my dear,” he said removing a cigarette from the gold case. “I’m not from around here. I come from a line that goes farther back than I care to elucidate right now. Needless to say I was here before you came and I’ll be around long after you’re gone.”
She fell back, her poorly stitched bloomers torn open at the seams.
“You used me!”
“Let’s say we used each other. Straighten yourself and we’ll go over to the hotel and see about the early morning catch.”  
Her eyes filled with uncontrollable tears. He sat beside her stroking her cheek. “Now now Ramera. You’ll find your virginity intact. You haven’t lost a thing.”
“You mean...I have not sold my soul?”
Bob stood quickly, “I never said that. I have a shipmate, Bonnie whose prayers are very effective. You could learn a thing or two.”
“She is a believer?” simpered the sole sister of Santa Santa.
“Do you think you’re the only Christian in the world? Where were you born?”
She left the bed, resolved that her soul was permanently stained if not stolen. Taking the cigarette from his paw she reflected,
“I was born here in Tierre Firme. I was an orphan raised from infancy by the Hemeras of Iglesia de Santa Papá Noel. Eventually they all grew old and died off one by one. I am the last Hemera; the last member of the parish. I alone am the body of Christ.” She began to weep again and leading her back on her feet to the tousled bed, Bob once again made love to her the sun glowing brilliantly in the sky. She wasn’t alone. She had the sun and the ******* cat on top of her. Bob grabbing the half empty bottle of tequila from the stand guzzled. Ramera snatching the bottle from him sat up swigging until the bottle was empty, hurling it crashing against the adobe wall.
“I am a miserable sinner! ******* me, Roberto! God’s wants me to be punished!” she cried sternly, turning and raising her rear to him. “Selah! Selah!” she shouted, black felt habit thrown over her head her narrow bottom pummeled inside out by the cat’s thorny *****.

Every single Hemera, I roam in chapter

42, Ishmael's aghast perception of

Moby ****'s whiteness.

Having bartered with Ishmael, I threw

myself overboard--he is no longer afraid.

I, in memory of a white whale's belly--

ever & the same.

Ask for me & they will tell you, more has

me, leave it at more--mystery provides.

I've a hankering for white, they may say:

'What's wrong with that man, what's he

staring at?'

How white orients.

White is, if peace is pleased--which means

nothing can disturb it.

That can be too final for the unsettled.

I suspect there are many more Moby

***** to come, so be it.

I may find myself as Ishmael did,

watching another throw themself

overboard--that I might not be afraid,

so be it.

White is, if peace is pleased--that's what

that belly taught me.

The bellies will grow larger & larger--

in white, out of white.

Nothing but upturned eyes, given over &

glistening--never think a beast unnatural.

That's what allows for proportional

girth, when a Moby **** is spotted.