Then I leapt for joy, but he stealthily put into my mouth a food honey-sweet, a pomegranate seed, and compelled me against my will and by force to taste it.
— Persephone, Hymn to Demeter
How many nights can I go on walking
through the garden like a ghost listening
to flowers gasping in the dirt—small mouths
gulping for air like tiny black asthmatics
fighting their bodies, eating the wind?
— Edward Hirsch
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