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
