A Performance of the Sibelius Violin Concerto
She is a child of twenty or so,
a beautiful woman
if I were young enough to call her that.
The composer must have wrote this
for a girl with arms
as long as a Mediterranean sunset
but then also as ivory as a Nordic sky.
The music opens and I sense
that it will never close,
just as all our love affairs
play with scattered embers
years after the concert had caught fire.
For long moments
she traps my voice in her violin
a stranger makes me love again,
makes me write this love poem,
and recall why I could never sing like this alone,
how it takes an alien love
to catch the same straw in the wind -
an everlasting note to be found and lost,
lost and found.
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