and weary of his weekly concubine,
he lurched to bed and watched the moonlight froth
the gold scorpion, whose claws’ black swath
tilted against the floor. The Telchines
had puzzled both drunk and sober attendees
of the royal wedding with the gift they’d sent,
a blind witness to the discontent
Pasiphaë’s deflowering would sire
when Minos parodied his sire’s desire.