Phainetai Moi
(Fragment XXXI, Sappho)︎︎︎ C. Sandbatch
︎ July 24, 2026
He appears to me—like unto the gods—
that man who sits across from you,
drinking your voice like springlight,
listening as you laugh that soft,
wild honey-laugh.
My heart stumbles in my chest;
it flutters, moth-like, against my ribs.
At the flicker of your glance—
no voice escapes my throat.
My tongue snaps,
spindlous fires snake my skin,
my eyes no longer see, only whirl
my ears thrum with bees, with thunder.
Cold sweat runs down in torrents—
trembling takes hold of every limb—
I am greener than grass,
and to myself, alone I seem
I am just barely the ghost of me
Yet—
all things may be dared,
even by the pauper.
that man who sits across from you,
drinking your voice like springlight,
listening as you laugh that soft,
wild honey-laugh.
My heart stumbles in my chest;
it flutters, moth-like, against my ribs.
At the flicker of your glance—
no voice escapes my throat.
My tongue snaps,
spindlous fires snake my skin,
my eyes no longer see, only whirl
my ears thrum with bees, with thunder.
Cold sweat runs down in torrents—
trembling takes hold of every limb—
I am greener than grass,
and to myself, alone I seem
I am just barely the ghost of me
Yet—
all things may be dared,
even by the pauper.
C. Sandbatch is an American writer. Buy his new book.
Also by Sandbatch: He Draws the Seven of Swords
Also by Sandbatch: He Draws the Seven of Swords