ANDROMEDA I sit in my cell and stare at an empty page: Hoping the image hasn't ebbed away, Dissolved in the dream I dreamed before The edge of morning touched the Outer Banks. It's a familiar hell we travel through: Not as a connoisseur, caressing the artifacts, But like Dante, in dismayed complicity, Sighing and groaning with the passionate dead. The throbbing head drifts forward through the gloom: A silly menace with its hissing hair And eyebeams threaded on an iron wire To fix me wordless in its freezing gaze. Athena told me not to look. I falter backwards, Hold my mirror steady and clop the head Into my magic bag. It's time to put on My flying shoes, visit that myth-stained shore, And shake my sword above the dragon's raging shape, And free that naked beauty from the rocks.