To Eurydice
her steps rhyme with mine
an echo between yearn and daunt
I ask her to keep pace, her shadows pine
voices behind me, slick and gaunt
—the phantoms want to keep her
the light ahead hazy, yet I demur
we’re so close—or too close
panic surged deliriously, in prose—
my eyes turn to my asphodel...
her lost shadow whispers: ‘farewell.’
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