Christian Bök


A Nocturne for Eurydice

for “the maiden in her dark, pale meadow”

Twilight through the roof of a rain forest
                shatters like a chandelier of green glass,
the shrillness strafed by keening cicadas
                and unseen flocks of cockatoos that caw
their catcalls at the meltdown of the sun.

Dimming of the day bronzes a pathway
                that we follow under vaults of booyong
down a terraced stairway to this canyon
                of warm mist, where a waterfall loiters,
draped in a grotto, like a soaked sarong.