Forms of Love

Leaving Eurydice

Though I have travelled through this dark alone
in search of you, I can't stay long. Roses
wilt among familiar weeds and rocky
slopes lead to empty streams, dry without sound.
Something down here--is it him?--absorbs song
like a fearful rag thrown upon sheets
where we sweat. My sighs are mute: you believe
your soul cannot be coaxed to hum, cry, or moan,
but you are wrong. You do have voice to sing.
Still if you insist on staying, I wish
you perfect silence, a tone's vacuum between
a heart's two beats. I turn now to ascend
and will not turn again until you promise
to dance with me beside the flowing stream.