Levitation

I'm
scared
sometimes
when I levitate.
I'd say it was a miracle
but I am a sceptic in matters supernatural.
Once I returned to the bedroom
where childhood was packed
I flew there
through space
and
time.

My
toy
castle
on the rug
still guarded by knights,
lead sheep and cattle graze painted fields next to my bed.
Through the window memory's view
beech trees umbrella
friendly hens,
speckled
wings
clipped.

I
heard
my first
symphony
alone in that room
a New World in much more than name,
heralding the dawn of excited adolescence.
Hearing it now I levitate.
I'm old world propelled
to Dvořák,
feathers
and
eggs.