Speak to me never again about sacrifice.

Tell me no stories about things left behind.

Should you dream of telling me such a thing

Imagine immediately yourself in front of Orpheus.

Know that for the rest of my life

I do and will name everything Eurydice,

No matter what else I pretend I have named it.

I do not know what my own eyes look like

But often I imagine them like the eyes of a hound

Fresh from the track.

The track, too, is Eurydice.

Each lover. Three dogs. Rose bushes.

My mother, my sister, my home state.

An underground bees’ nest. One upright black Kawaii piano.

Here are the words you may not speak to me

Because I know them better than you could:

Toil. Sacrifice. Hound. Eurydice.