Anatolian Dreams

Roberto Strafella

“Go and catch a falling star.”
(John Donne)

St Barbara, a poor white gloved icy ingénue,
Has long been a dusty piece of Black Forest wood

That grew out of the ashes of Sibylline books
The black stone is gone from the Palatine
Only infinitesimal phantasmagoria of the sea

Dwells deep within the grave mound of the soul
While carrying a torch clothed with the sun

Nikola Tesla still feeds a pigeon every day —
It’s an aperiodic dolphin atavism

Awakened by an unknown lyre
It drinks virtue from a moon beam

Only Saturn, the awakener of lavender hope,

Silently watches the humble pigeon
From the depths of our star fed earth