My pen flies to a realm
never spied by my eyes.
He flutters through the air
like a dolphin through a tide,
whisking up until gravity takes.
He cares not where he flows or
even where I am.
Perhaps he will be seen in New York,
possibly Istanbul.
He was once sighted in Moscow
before fluttering to China
to walk the Great Wall.
Currently, he is having the traditional
Earl Grey with Queen Elizabeth.
At the rate he moves,
I fear he'll run out of ink.