"She tells me she comes from my mother the mountain, her skin fits her tightly and her lips do not lie, silently she slips from her throat a medallion, slowly she twirls it in front of my eyes, singing 'tu a lu ra li oh.'

I watch her, I love her, and I long for to touch her, the satin she's wearing is shimmering blue. Outside her widow, her ladies are sleeping, the dogs have gone hunting, their howling is through, singing 'tu a lu ra li oh.'

I reach for her hand, and her eyes turn to poison, and her hair turns to splinters, and her flesh turns to brine. She leaps across the room, she stands in the window, and screams that my firstborn will surely be blind."