So this is paradise
where you slip into your seat at the table,
every other one occupied
by some ghost-double,
someone you knew in another life,
some other place.
Your plate is full of taste.
Gnocchi floats to your mouth.
Your glass never appears empty,
and language is no barrier.
Here the Hibiscus brazens itself
beneath pine. Birds make no secret
of their cries,
while restless cockerels doodle thru siesta,
and strawberries run wild;
rubies in the grass.
Wind, vento, unruffling your brow.
Espresso, Amaro, amore,
the conversation stilled
to a comfortable silence,
while an army of angels pass by,
touching every one.
Il cammino delle comete, Pistoia, 2005.