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think of the love that is generated by these streets

think of the piazzas the porticos and stout doors

the smell of gardenias

the beautiful women just beyond broad

marble steps her willingness

the grace of her arms and hands

her dark hair the sun the

clouds as they pass in the gauze-wrapped window

and somewhere out there the sea

the churning never resting Mediterranean

the blue so dark

for one hundred leagues the waves building the

clouds holding over distant isles Sardinia Malta

where under terracotta roofs

the men sleep soundly

waiting only for morning

  • A poem by Richard Donnelly.


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