He walks without looking back,
though his spine is a string pulled taut.
There is only the echo of her footsteps,
soft as ash falling on snow.
Orpheus has all the silence he can bear
inside him.
The Underworld watches them
as one watches a dying star,
it holds its breath.
He longs to turn around
and pull her into the light,
but someone decided that
singers are only meant to
break their own hearts.
The path narrows like a throat
and swallows the dark.
A river of shadows rushes
like black silk past his ankles
as he whispers into the gloom:
"Wait."
He feels the cold weight of her absence
and wishes he could fill it with his songs,
but he is a mortal, he can only turn
around and lose her.
Loved this —brilliant piece!