The Poet by Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin

The poet goes in those moments
unbeknownst to the rest of the city-folk
hopelessly lost
a ship tempest tossed
but this is the best time to let
thought get caught entwined in gloss

His ears per-culating the mood serenading
inter-lude between the drapes caught-closed
the poet emerges like a raven out the window

Dove-smoke rising sea-gliding
desertion for the sake of self-emersion
and eyes-widening
despising all the interruptions for the sake
of this particular homeostasis function
to those who are knowing
in the come and go-ing where dichotomous
calm and storm is broken wide-open
in a free fall of wake