Eurydice

Eurydice 

Mystery made her: 

While her beast bellows 

Below     —father sang 

To mother whose breath 

Gave him lungs strong 

As kettles— Orphée whistles. 

Young as she is     —mist 

Slipped into caves, covered 

The crying     —gloves off, 

Woolen scarf on, her lips red, 

In kohl shadows she rises 

From behind the veil, 

Still snakebit but glowing:  

"Turn around," she says.