To E. A. Poe
Ligeia, your heavenly will,
is a drop in a lovely still.
Your twin stars of Leda,
big, black and bright eyes,
are returned to me, Ligeia.
I will praise your mind,
she is mine now, oh Ligeia.
The winner has been defeated,
the angels will not have you.
The gold is raven black now,
and through that you call God,
you arrived, my Lady Ligeia.
2004