Poetry

From Pandora’s box

Last night I dreamt that Elpis had left
the box, and was dancing without favour
house to house: a lilting promenade, a teasing
piqué tour, a pirouette each time she crossed

the centreline. And one thousand faces,
passed it and before their prime, leaning
out of windows, trying to draw her in
with pleading eyes; knowing what was lost.

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