Sometimes we make it to the landing.
I do this for you, after
All, even agony prolonged becomes a joy,
And this is repetition.
The garish snapshot in your mind,
Why am I so patient?
When you place your hand
Upon the rail, I know my name
Rumors light like running water
As you stray between the yes and no
Then turn to flood the darkness.
What can I tell you?
Desire cannot be commanded.
Once is now, this undertow
Forever. Keep turning.
It was your carelessness
That makes the song worth singing.
[Oh no, girl... No no no no.]
Here's a piece of advice to Eurydice more eloquently put:
Orpheus and Eurydice
Peter Paul Rubens
This painting adds layers to the portrait of Eurydice: it shows Eurydice who, even though feeling the way she does in the poem, would cling to Orpheus out of selfish indulgence and would have
witless glance, ebullient but oblivious
as Steve Kowit puts in in his excellent poem Eurydice
The importance of what we want is clear,
however inaccurate. The sound of it
follows us at distances too close
to question, like a sound of a dripping
faucet you hear -- listen for, rather -- when
the faucet is not dripping: a kind
of silence, spliced; or the way an eye
fixes for a moment a star, any star,
then loses it again."Gun" will never do
that for an object, held to the back of your head.
Call it "history". You will learn to forgive it.
You turn around to face your first love,
Darkness, gone. And you hold your own.
Gary Miranda, from Triptych. Orpheus