The thread of blood trickled
down the scales of the snake goddess.
Her labyrinth penetrated by love
and loss. Eyes follow along the walls
in sea-foam shade. The Minotaur walks
alone. Her purist areas persist
in memory. Alone she sits, back thrust
upon her. Her thread makes him flee.
It reasserts her purity, and yet,
demonizes her nakedness.
His shadow follows him across the sky.
At the edge of the inevitable cliff;
robes in the wind, bland colors,
low light, blue sky with sharp cloud.
To him, her name an epithet. Alone
in the Piazza. Long shadows and backs.
Silk thread one direction, blood trail the other.
As he left she slept with hand on stomach;
crying that won't come on her mind.
Her hand bloodied and cracked, imitating
life. She pulls on her pubescent hair.
She boarded a ship carrying trees and arrows
to leave the island of her birth.