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.