Eurydice Of The Summer Dusk Poem by Chris Zachariou

I glimpsed her for a fleeting moment
between the needles of the pines
and the unsullied chastity of the sand.

In the comatose summer heat
the stern voice of the preacher
hushed the singing of the blackbirds
and from the belfry, a blast of purple noise
raged without remorse inside her head.

Eurydice clasped her hands and prayed
for the rage to leave, but she was caught
inside the storyline of a mystic's tale.
Sin and sainthood battled in her eyes
until the struggle against the belfry was won.

For days we sheltered from the deluge
in deserted caverns by the sea.
We soothed our growing pains in brine
and on the thirteenth whisper of the day
the heat scorched the newness of our minds.