Villanelle for Two Young Lovers

You two there, draped across that café table:
your fingers dance their ancient dance—your eyes
are caught, gripped in the old, undying fable—

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your broken words are tongues of a fallen Babel,
your smiles are questions, your hands the only replies,
you two there, draped across that café table,

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snared like two boats held on a sunken cable,
helpless to cast loose the unseen ties,
caught, gripped in the old undying fable.

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I remember now: her hair like tumbling sable,
decades ago, like spilled midnight skies—
both of us draped across some café table,

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and I, like you, with eyes half-closed, unable
to lift my cup, unable simply to rise,
caught, gripped in the old undying fable.

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Now you, like millions reeling on this unstable
skewed star: take what time denies,
grasp it close across that café table,
lost, gripped in the old, undying fable.

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