THE FIDDLER

In a little Hungarian cafe

Men and women are drinking

Yellow wine in tall goblets.

Through the milky haze of the smoke,

The fiddler, under-sized, blond,

Leans to his violin

As to the breast of a woman.

Red hair kindles to fire

On the black of his coat-sleeve,

Where his white thin hand

Trembles and dives,

Like a sliver of moonlight,

When wind has broken the water.