Beware That Impulse To Know

Angel’s Blood

I am the poema
The angel’s blood that pulses in your veins—making that which is unseeable.

I am the shades
The silence that walks behind, unheard
I am Eurydice, following her Orpheus out of hades.

Beware the fate of faithless Orpheus
That impulse to know for sure, to turn and look—to remove all doubt that your beloved, loves.

Oh the sadness of the maker, unmade by his own hand

Making of me a thing for eyes to see, to understand, like prose, like heresy.

Thus and so, poor Orpheus took ‘One backward glance, suffice to see, to lose, to kill, Eurydice.’

(Peter Volkofsky, Dubbo, 2017)

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