Osiris  Over his suddenly virginal limbs breathes sullied air, Made from her tears, Stitched and weaved, Woman’s work.   But he has left The statue in his tomb Whose mouth is open And is no longer hungry.   He is a creature, Monumental as the wind, Unshakeable as an earthquake.   He has become a certainty And should not be mourned.   Now he is abstract as the postmodern, And unreal as the sea.   The blood is white as marble.                         Sophia Nugent-Siegal     Poseidon or Zeus They dredged up a god From the sea floor And were…