Euridice streaked the black Del Sol
through backwoods snow.

She’d trekked through hell before
but this fell whiter and colder than

Jersey. The Lovington Food Lion
roared with freaked-out country folks,

hoarding bread and pad thai.
What to do? Go slow, pray?

“There ain’t been no God of Israel in these parts
since Job was a boy,” Cuz’ said.

The grey man at the end of the driveway leered,
“I told you so.” According to the Nelson County

Mortality Schedule, he’d been dead long enough to know.
Euridice planned to track poems and down Bordeaux

until the sun came back, or
Orpheus phoned. After all this time,

would she know his voice if the call
went through? She’d made mistakes before.

Soon as the sky cleared, she would find him,
above, or below.