Whistling, splashing, humming
I can hear from your Magyar lyre lips,
Russet harmonics, melody, rhythms,
tambourine jingle rattle swap.
Gypsy waist engirdles words of desire
murmuring awake slumbering crumbled clay.
Pomegranate drips, ripened pears, baskets
Woven from reeds encircled and touched upon by bees.