ὡς πολλοῖς ὄμμασιν εἰς σὲ βλέπω

Poetry

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Sonya Taaffe

Issue: 23 November 2009

Imagine him dreamy, broad-shouldered,

once a wrestler with a poet's owl eyes

and so rarely laughing, by lamplight

writing star-gazer, my star and sky—

not the play of forms and abstracts

stark as shadows cast by sun within a cave,

but the gravity of hand answering hand,

a scroll of Aischylos, a kylix filled again,

a face, long fallen into dust, heaven-tilted

to watch a comet passing, lost and bright.

About Sonya Taaffe

Sonya Taaffe reads dead languages and tells living stories. Her short fiction and poetry have been collected most recently in As the Tide Came Flowing In (Nekyia Press) and previously in Singing Innocence and Experience, Postcards from the Province of Hyphens, A Mayse-Bikhl, Ghost Signs, and the Lambda-nominated Forget the Sleepless Shores. She lives with one of her husbands and both of her cats in Somerville, Massachusetts, where she writes about film for Patreon and remains proud of naming a Kuiper Belt object.

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