Eurydice

She knows she is remembered only
for him: that is the way the story is told.
They found something he thought was love
in the ashes, and he sang because he was
desperate. Even now: in the groves,
mourning, praying to his lyre.
He would have blinded himself
to keep singing. Perhaps he was afraid.

Why the endless refrain? Why the sweetness?
But the snake was her friend, her salvation
and fruit of knowledge. Later she
braids her hair, remembering how, for
the sake of a song, it had to be let loose
so the wind could tangle it.

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