Orpheus, Silent

The quiver of the lyre has blended
into the silence and ended.
Being, day and glade are one
as he stumbles from the opened
earth and stands in the sun

His legs are sore from stepping,
standing on stones his feet found
in eyeball black his back from standing
at arduous angles, throat sore
from singing in airless clay

He may turn now if he wishes
—there is no rule for the air
but he fears to see her there,
long accustomed to desert habits and more,
he wants to feel her kiss on his neck

so he stands in the clearing and watches
clouds in the afternoon sky, feels air
and his being quiver, blend into day and glade
and gathers himself for the moment
and forever.

There is nothing so beautiful
as a young woman and her man
the curve of her waist and hip
the strength of his hand
their lips' exchange inexpressible in words

Oh my love I’ve lost you
in the twisting curls of my mind
that sickly thing that feeds on itself and its feral growls,
lost you in pointless plots of stupid stories
written in acid and blood

turning, turning
through the earth where I wormed
through Hades and the grey
matter of my sickness
turning myself in the earth.

© Dan Goorevitch, 2008