Time is like your head
in a crowd,
eyes now facing me
face shaped
like recognition.

Losing Eurydice
was not an accident–
but the insistence
of the presence of
love: a connection,
a resonance
despite distance.

With time, Orpheus
will turn his gaze
from light,
from the faint promise
of salvation,
to the dark furrows
of the foregone
and familiar.

There is no forward
march, no current
to take me further daily–
only the endless crest
of angels
turning from eternity.