trapped in a conical 

     prism of light. 

    the streetlight's 

spectral net tenuous,

there appears slowly in the mist

    you. solemn statue. golden,

    you come to life. 

desperate attempts of 

the swirling fog, jealous

it can obscure your radiance

only partially.

to be content—

viewing you from afar like this.

                  yet how much longer?

forgive me, o Eurydice! i am too much

a coward to face you—

           let alone ready to venture

           a descent into hell.

i dare not take 

a single step further,

Eurydice, for i fear you

& what little remains of this resolve

may vanish completely