The Lyre

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Remember, dear Sappho,
when you first held a lyre
to your breast like a child
and started to play?
This sacred medium,
of suspended strings and wood,
is an ancient doorway
to the panic room,
where we can retreat
when we find ourselves wanting
for safety and solitude,
expression and joy.

The blessed waning moon
smiles upon our kind,
who feel right at home
with our arms in the sky.
And I can see in your face
and the colors that surround you
that you have accepted death,
that beautiful mistress.
She looms above you
like an encompassing shroud
waiting to touch you
and bring light into her life.
She comes much too soon
for lovers and artists,
for everything we touch,
we also destroy.

(From December 2015)

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