The Maury’s Hymn

Renku by Sophia Breschi ‘26, Sloan Criner ‘25, Lizzie Diamond ‘27, Martha Ernest ‘24, Matthew Ezzell ‘25, Jillian Gangaram ‘27, Houston Johnson ‘27, Erika Kengni ‘27, Tut Linen ‘26, Thomas Maghie ‘27, William Melton ‘27, Lily Pareso ‘26, Jay Seevers ‘26, Arhana Sethi ‘26, Eve Spencer ‘26

Sunday walk along

an icy verge—I stop

to sit with glitter.

That serpentine Satan

flowing forever, choking fields of green—

water so holy,

slender blue snakes on a map,

where might they slither?

Like in church I listen,

to the rush of murky water whiskin',

churning brackishly,

swept along by autumn sunsets.

Hell's flames ride the tide...

Ouch! muddy knees glide down the path,

chucking me into the murky Maury, rats!

Captive to the depth

of dirty rocks and water,

stirring in swarms,

look—a glimpse of fleeting fins

bound by their bubbled haven.

Sinking trees groan from the

bank while the green flow slows

and cuts into their strength.

Colored windows; scenes from ago;

Slippery prisms just visible past them.

My friend, let's journey

between the peaks, gaze down there.

Poseidon incites the roar.

While in the sky, Zeus slumbers;

Artemis raises the moon—

watch its silvery

rays on hushed whispers of

mystical water.

From high heaven those petals,

spring tinkling onto a mirror.

Blurs of dawn silence

ripple. Girl in the kayak:

I dreamed your singing.

Tsubaki bushes feel dew.

The half-moon hanging above

glows like headlights

while a wolf howl refracts

across its reflection.

The Maury's own undertone

reaches out and skims your cheek.

Water on your leg.

Perfectly round stones fly;

the glass will shatter.

Beneath the surface, creatures abide,

singing rock melodies side by side,

whose fluttering swims

scare a little one at night—

metal scales shimmer.

Hidden worlds glisten transparently,

a language lost to those above:

a stranger can’t grasp

the secret syllables or

their hungry intent.