Old Loves (Poetry)

Bring me my old loves —
one at a time —
let them kneel, confess
each bloodless crime
so that I, turned gracious
can now forgive
the fools they were
and let them live.

Bring them from dungeons
where they groan
up to the light
and once more roam
my spacious thoughts —
sit down and dine —
their youth restored
as well as mine.

Then let us talk
of heart’s desire —
of faith and beauty
blood and fire
for no more reason
or neat rhyme
than each should hold me
one last time.