The goddess weeps over her mortal lover’s body,
says, In a flower thy blood I will bestow,
and where his blood pools spreads a blanket
of bright red anemones dotted with white anemones
everywhere her tears fall, the red and white petals
yawning open, winking closed, blinking open in the gentle breeze
that burns her cheeks. Beg, she says. Beg for me.
Beg for me to save you. Now save me.

At home, she carries her emaciated father up the stairs,
carries him like she is his bridegroom and he is her bride, ready
to cross the threshold at the beginning of their shared life,
not ready for him to cross that final threshold now
at the end of his. Her left elbow cradles his neck and head. Her right,
his two bent knees. Their shadow labors, beastly—without relief.