My Penelope                                                      

            You spilled into my cups
            With such sleight of hand

            Those fingers –
            How many times have they kissed? –
            Their fine unspooling and regathering,
            My dear sweet loom

            How the long veil flutters from the 
            Breath of your admirers
            In the crowded hall, and glows
            With trespasses and glory
            By the changing light of their fire

            No fools were they who chose
            To kneel at your hearth and
            Sacrifice the pitiless call of the ocean

            Nor you who drew me back 
            To drink again and dash myself
            Upon the spell of your
            Uncertain eye


             Emanuel E. García, Sojourns2014