The Quartet Playing Beethoven

The faces are
stamped in.
They sit and play.
having done this
all their maturing lives.
It is familiar and new.

I love the immersion in
civilization, want more,
Like a tantalizing spice.
the faces reach into me,
dancing in soundspace.

The time
fused with sound,
are sufficient
in the faces of the men,
but in the woman's face
a permission remains.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2013

Poem

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