To Styx
Dear Styx,
you are my ever-present, awful
and loveliest solace. My dreams of bathing
in your gray, leaden waters are sweet
—only the leap frightens me more
than the uncertainty of living tomorrow.
Because your water is opaque
and thick, molten metal;
and because from the place
beneath your waters no eye can see
I dream of immersion
below your waves.
Because your current is quiet
and never disturbs,
and your temperature colder
than I can feel on my skin
I gaze, undecided
on the rail of the bridge.
Styx, you tempt me
but more than this, you vex me
with that slow, quiet lapping
of your syrupy waves on the skulls of men.
And Styx, my friend, you tell me
in that sweet and rich but nauseating voice
promises I know you cannot keep.
With wind in my face I reel from the railing
—this wind that’s blowing blows me away
from your waters, dear Styx, so adieu, my friend!
The earth has spoken and demands me to stay.
