And I know now that if he will look back, it will all be over 

I would go back to the tree, take back up my nap 

And eat my fruits 

 

Husband, singer of songs 

It’s depressing to look at the back of a man’s head 

 

The ladies there 

my friends 

were so kind 

So white and their dresses open at the sides 

The bite didn’t even hurt back there 

 

And his grip is so tight on my hand 

And my girdle is so tight on my breast 

And I’m hungry 

And my ankle is bothering me 

 

Should I yank my hand or slip it slowly? 

Or will even just a tug do? 

A wiggle of the fingers 

 

Odysseus was somewhat sure of Penelope 

How sure is my Orpheus of me? 

 

How sure am I of him? 

What kind of question is that? 

 

And we’re nearing the gates 

And the hunger is gnawing 

And I can see the sweat on the back of his neck 

 

The sun is shining through 

And there’s a little town on the other side 

His foot is in the grass and he’s holding tighter to me 

 

But look! A shake of the curls —