Sometimes
Sometimes,
I don’t know how,
I hover over
The Tropic of Capricorn,
Riding on a cirrus
Wispy, white and torn,
Looking at the azure sea
Below.
Sometimes,
I don’t know why,
I am suddenly
At the Arno in Florence,
Listening to Dante’s
Sweet verse at the fence,
While Beatrice is flitting, pure
And shy.
And sometimes,
I don’t know what
For, but I would like
To assist Peter Schlemihl
Finding his lost shadow,
Hammer the anvil
Without iron or purpose
On a yacht.
And sometimes,
I don’t know when,
My heart desires
To become a remote fjord,
Aurora borealis
Playing harpsichord,
Or, in the frozen tundra,
Cyclamen.
poem by Paul Hartal
Added by Poetry Lover
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