Ferris Wheel

The Ferris wheel

Soy un fue, y un será,
y un es cansado.

I am a was, and a will be,
and a tired is.

That is what I answered
to my guest who asked
what poetry was.
She appeared unconvinced
looked straight into
the black of my eye.

That is when I knew
she wanted to make poetry
instead of writing
even though our gazes
were parallaxes
skewed by the years
separating us.

I also knew it was a matter
of the time dividing us when
dropping her off at the airport
she whispered twice in French,
Come to Paris alone.

I knew then the moment of
impressing her was when
in a spat of illumination,
at the very top of the Ferris wheel,
I enacted a bit of poetry
by unbuckling myself
swinging the door open
and loudly declaiming,

That only death can clarify
the definition of poetry.

Upon the last word
I started to leap but entangled
in her gaze.

~~~
Alex Nodopaka Aug©2006
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Spanish verses
Francisco de Quevedo 1580-1645