your presence. I can bear
to be in your arms and feel a violin
thrusting its vibrance in
between us; or a flute
high, remote, acute
with spiritual portent, like a cry
out of infinity.
Love’s quality belongs to these; even old songs,
strung with word-tokens minted long ago
and thinned in petty trade, will throw
your glance flaming to mine,
and the old words shine
exquisite, freshly fair
for us, as for the lover who set them there.
All of Sibyl’s poetry published to date on this website can be seen in these posts: