A young goddess, full of love,
fresh with the touch of a husband,
carrying power and rich with anger,
strength, urgency, understanding,
follows the direction her ear has led her,
down to the place where the underworld glistens.

At each door she removes a jewel,
a belt, a ceremonial robe.
At each door, she is less and more.
She bows down through the seventh door.

The young goddess is dead, and waiting.
The young goddess is dead.
A goddess goes down, and I can see her.
She needs to go, decides to go.
A goddess goes down, and I can hear her.

First collected in Eve (Story Line Press, 1997, Reprinted by Carnegie Mellon University Press Contemporary Classics Poetry Series, 2011).