I said, my love, I’ve paid my dues,

the ferryman awaits,

though he does not wait for you.

We sat in silence as he guided his ship,

slicing through the slick ink of the Styx.

He helped me onto the dock with one

withered, sympathetic arm.

The dog and its three heads turned

to me, watching pensively.

They gave a yip; and beside the fallen tree,

a lone, bent-backed man pulled at weeds.

A futile task, as they grew straight back again,

grey and tangled in a hideous knot.

Beyond the gates was a veiled lady.

Teardrops hung before her concealed face.

She held out one hand –

the hand that would hold my soul –

and asked if I had any regrets.

I said, my love:

for you, no