hearing the echoes of the weeping that come
from the maze's mouth, where the others cower,
crowd, and wait
their turn in the labyrinth, their death duel
The line tugs. Where does it go? It slackens again~who
to the one Greek they promised would kill that abortion,
as if I had no soul, no mind, no heart, no memory
of happiness under the sun's gaze, and only howl and
bucking my horns on the rocks in an agony of memory
of those few weeks I knew the light and warmth of day.
It tugs again, and thrums~he is looking for me, this
with his smooth face, his eyes shining with
imagining me~one hand trembling on the rock face, the
sweating at the end of the thread.
thread! it may lead
to the maze's entrance, escape
this stinking darkness into the air and sun,
the immensity of light and breath of cloud, the sweet
the high sky above me~could it?
course, it could!