Song of Eurydice

So you have swept me back—

I who could have walked with the live souls

above the earth.

I who could have slept among the live flowers

at last.

- Hilda Doolittle

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As a breath, so soft was her step, did Eurydice pass over the sodden earth, and on the lambent breeze rode Eros’ apostatic charm, rushing, whirling, twining itself about her limbs in ecstatic whorls and rings. Etesian sighs ached to soothe the blushed skin as Notus’ kiss burned on her cheeks.

The world turned with her as she purled across its face, gilding leaves and twigs, scrawling sonnets in their midst. Her amorevolous dance gave shape to subtle passions, painting colour from the soil, scions bursting from out their interment like Demeter’s alms.

Sirius glared above, as the gloam beat like a heart, flushing, filling and spilling back into the dark amidst the hymenopterous din. Thrust onward in her amatory throes, light and sound melded to form a deliquescent stream that rushed through her mind, sweeping away the water that bounded her modesty. Her robes sang in the air, dewy beads pearling on her frenzied crown, as the darkness bayed and wept.

She hurled herself at Aristaeus’ barred door, but the keeper, an adder warming his cold heart in her light, was unmoved by her assails. He struck at her with his maw, and as she fell venomous coils wound themselves around her slender wrists like myrtle wreaths, wedding her to necessity’s senseless heart. The lupine dark rushed her maiden flesh, obfuscating, annihilating to a shade, what once shone as the morning sun.

All fell still but for the forlorn Orphic trills.

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