.

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