In olden times
couples locked in their waltz
under the candles’ amber drip
glided on with outstretched arms
as if they too changed into buoyant dragonflies
who, limbs entwined via limbs,
arrayed the air with wheels and hearts,
turning in one ceaseless reel
around the glow of ladies’ bared necks:
“Am I a dragon?”—“Just say fly!”
though none became a poet
or lyric bard,
still many seemed to hum—
with their enkindled eyes.
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