She lags below, as I press on, climb,
up the mountain towards Emerald Lake.
A coyote sounds on the stone. My limbs
freeze. “Is this where the water flows back?”
“Not yet,” I say, frustrated. “Soon.”
She itches for the smog-choked valley
Where dissipated men meet, spoon
Sugar in cappucinos, speak Farsi,
Dress expensively. Now is a season
for granola, frugality. We’re nearing,
but is she with me? I look back. Slashing
through brush, I escape, the green basin
Explodes before me. But I see the glassy
Skin alone, for I have lost Eurydice.