Paul Archer - photo Paul Archer - poet, translator

Poems

Lyrics
Translations
Contact
Home

Isabella

Her laugh is the yellow
Lightning on winter nights that floods
The valley's sides, Isabella.

Her breath is pine in the sun
And braised in the rain,
Tide-rush onto rocks. Isabella!

Your heart's thumping like army boots.
Where are you marching your
Unquestioning battalions?

It's time for the truth: Isabella
Doesn't exist outside this poem.
But she doesn't know that yet, nor ever will.

 Poems
© Paul Archer - All Rights Reserved