- after Leonora Carrington's "And then We Saw the Daughter of the Minotaur" We wished to tell her of certain buds that bloom only one night of the year— about how, when at last they raise their heads, the perianth opens and the ivory wings of petals fall away. Finally, from out of one of the glass balls we rolled into her lair, some seed must have broken free. The ceiling rejoiced by building a softer canopy of clouds. The garment her father was always trying to unravel stayed faithful to her body. We witnessed how she had not burned herself into coal, how the years of solitude had merely curved the points of her horns into softer filaments resemblimg those growing out of the sex of flowers. We were as curious as she was about the guide dressed in gauze, dancing to a melody only it could hear; it pointed toward an archway through which soft sepia light spilled, as if from the mouth of a bell.