He dreamt that night
that without warning
the earth’s magnetic pull
let go, as a boy
lets go a kite,
to watch it careen
untethered.
He and the people in the street
began to rise
ever so slowly,
ever so gently,
and it happened so suddenly
that nobody had time
to be afraid or to comprehend
the gravity of the situation.
Thousands of feet
into the atmosphere,
he looked back toward
the receding globe,
a blue Christmas ornament now,
diminishing, finishing.
So fragile, so exquisite,
he thought. I lived there once
and would give my very soul
to go back.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem