Poem For Cora Poem by Elmer Sayre

Briefly there is heaven amongst the flowers in the villa but my heart is somewhere else I cannot stand the incessant whining and chatter and false pretenses of glory proposing to write magnum opuses, what is it? nothing but food for cockroaches in tiny library nooks seldom seen by living souls yet;

Reaching a crescendo, thunder growling like thousand foxes in the distant ready to pounce on unsuspecting smaller fauna; the crescendo erasing the soft stiletto-pointed step-in worn by a lost Ukrainian damsel looking for an Italian savior in a hot humid night while the chug-chugging ferry sleeps;

The dance is lost and stupid as the magic fades after one week of fretful sleeping and thinking that the worn-out mountains of Libertad is far more better than the Lago el Como, the ghosts in the hallways of the villa whispering of things past, the folly of so-called great men, now carved in stone, cold in the gardens, like two writhing marble lions fighting;

I sit and write and the memories flood, magic of being alone. I see you in a silhouette in my dreams, gliding purposely, whispering in my ears that with all the pretenses in the world, the preening and the walls dividing, you are with me, my love, as always. You will be coming and that is all there is to it.