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Music In A Foreign Language

 In a cafe, once more I heard
Your voice - those sparse and frugal notes.
Do they not say that you spoke your native Greek With an English accent? Briefest of visions: eyes meet across the cafe; A man of about my age - eyelids heavy, Perhaps from recent pleasures.
I begin the most innocent of conversations.
Again I see that image; Ancient delight of flesh Against guiltless flesh.
Sweeter still, in its remembering.
Most innocent of conversations: once more, I am mistaken.
He leaves; the moment lost - and to forego The squalor of this place, I read again your lines; those sparse and frugal notes.
In a taverna, you found beauty, long ago.
And when you draw, with your slim, swift pen The image of that memory - time's patient hostage; Then how can I forget him, that boy whom you could not forget, Or that music, in a foreign language?

by Andrew Crumey
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