Vera

Vera 

     "My darling plays for anyone 

And himself"— Staunch flow from interiors 

That reverberate like rain on a roof— 

"Then splits our hearts with his mourning"— 

No grave can hobble her because, "Now 

     I shall dance!"     Perhaps not to his 

     Songs nor to a headless rhythm 

Nor to his fingers tapping on that desk 

Where he's composed regiments of sound 

That've seduced Thracian women 

     Who cast him thence to those carp 

     Kissing Hebrus' pebbles to nibble 

Whatever flesh fish can find before 

     He flows onto Lesbos' shores.