A Harp Player

I can remember the time
when I was young
and full of strange ideas,
I would dream a young girl,
who played
a golden harp on the ocean
rocks,
her little hands like gentle
bird feathers,
barely touching the strings,
as the sunlight played
upon her hair,
and her eyes always posed
a question—
Can you see him?
In these ocean depths
I lost my lover—
he was much like you,
foolish yet noble,
restless and
always ready for change.
Then she would disappear,
as I walked along the shoreline,
wondering who she was,
but somehow I knew
that she was my destiny...
And now each time I walk along
this shoreline,
I can hear her music and I know
that it was always me down there
at the bottom—
waiting for you, my love,
to draw me
out.


   July 11, 2002 
--Alexander Shaumyan