Tuesday, May 13, 2014


What I wondered was how your flower
  might be recognized among the others
   in Elysium towards the gates of Dis.
The light was pale,
    compounding dawn and twilight,
a haze made immaterial
    the hillside banked with myrtle and oxalis.
A stream ran there,
  thin tributary to Lethe
  forbidden to the living to drink.
I knew I'd never find you if I tarried
   but searched the windless banks beside the stream.
There, at a meander,
  grew a leafless tree and beside it
the rosebush half submerged in bramble.
Such a sense of hindrance
  under the heavy sunlight slowed my progress
  that I wondered if I'd ever reach my goal.
Do not pluck me
   said the rose upon the rosebush
  What you see is not a guidepost  for the living
  but a memory awaiting  a second death
Let me put my root downwards  into Lethe
  in Elysium towards the gates of Dis.
A wind began to blow.
  I watched as the last petals
   fell away; some scattered downstream.
Euridice is not retrieved to daylight, and Isaac
    is sacrificed time and again.

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