Around me, the road howls and roars.
Long and narrow, dark — a majestic lament.
A woman passes, holding a black dress in hand,
Swinging it up and down with graceful poise.
Like an angel, like a living statue she gleams.
Dazed and bewildered, I stand,
From her eyes — like skies that brew a storm —
I drew in honey that enchants, delight that wounds.
A flash — and darkness fell. O cursed butterfly,
With but a glance you turned me flame and fire,
Shall I not see you again except in endless life?
Ah, elsewhere, far away, too late — perhaps never,
For I know not where you fled, nor where I go,
I loved you, woman — you knew it well, you know.
