With her stupid face,
she sees but does not see, she sees
a forest in the floor
that is not a forest,
Phaidra, your poor crumpled body is still
on the floor. There are no dogs here but anyways you hear
dogs barking. You don’t move and there is no breeze, but you feel
the wind pushing through your hair,
a boar’s warm blood pouring over your body, dripping down
your cheeks, your neck, your breasts, your arms, your legs. “Artemis!”
She is so happy in the forest
that is a floor with the wind that is not there
with the dogs that are not there
with the boar she killed with a spear she doesn’t have.
If only I could leave her like this, she could be happy
like this.