Where the slow river meets the tide, a red swan lifts red wings and darker beak, and underneath the purple down

From citron—bower be her bed, cut from branch of tree a—flower, fashioned for her maidenhead. From Lydian apples, sweet of hue, cut the width of board and lathe,

Over and back, the long waves crawl and track the sand with foam; night darkens, and the sea takes on that desperate tone

Amber husk fluted with gold, fruit on the sand marked with a rich grain, treasure

I first tasted under Apollo’s lip… love and love sweetness, I, Evadne; my hair is made of crisp violets or hyacinth which the wind combs b…

Each of us like you has died once, has passed through drift of wood—l… cracked and bent and tortured and unbent

Will you glimmer on the sea? Will you fling your spear—head On the shore? What note shall we pitch? We have a song,

Hymen, O Hymen king, what bitter thing is this? what shaft, tearing my heart? what scar, what light, what fire searing my eye—balls and my eyes w…

YOU are as gold as the half—ripe grain that merges to gold again, as white as the white rain that beats through

Weed, moss—weed, root tangled in sand, sea—iris, brittle flower, one petal like a shell is broken,

Stars wheel in purple, yours is no… as Hesperus, nor yet so great a st… as bright Aldeboran or Sirius, nor yet the stained and brilliant… stars turn in purple, glorious to…