Eurydice

Eurydice

     Mystery made her

while her beast bellowed

     below: Father sang

to mother whose breath

     gave him lungs strong

as kettles. Orphée whistles.

     Young as she is mist

     slips into caves, covers

     the crying. Gloves off,

woolen scarf on, her lips red,

     eyes in kohl shadows,

from behind the veil she rises

still snakebit but glowing:

     "Turn around," she says.

[sonnet]