OrpheusEurydice1.0454_Feinstein

... Your mother blew
my dust into your lips
   a powder white as cocaine,
my name, runs to your nerves
   and now I move again in your song.
You will not let me go.
   
   The dead are strong.
Although in darkness I was lost
   and had forgotten all pain
long ago: in your song
   my lit face remains and so we go...