Sun sets At a quiet courtyard The king and queen sit upright An artist clings to his nude model Eros, body dissected, hollow inside Lighting shifts From the other side of the garden Arises, and fades slowly into silence A woman’s singing “On the Banks of the Ohio…” I linger there and listen– It’s many voices, voices of many women I don’t want to invoke Gaspara Stampa– I am thinking of The eight famed beauties on the Qinhuai River Who had sung their brave songs In the floating lights and soft shadows of red lantern.