Melopoeia

Clear and warm, Susanna lay in the dew of old devotions.
The face of the world now is changed, a constant sacrament of praise.
Music, with soft voices dying, vibrates in the memory.
Why has the world grown so old? In this room, desiring you, your elusive drowsy eyes.
The sun is falling into the sea, in the coal blue winter water, a flickering lamp, a phantom dream.