Returning to the Island
you see now
what you missed the first time
children playing in the streets, barking dogs,
balconies of bikes, flowers, shirts drying
like this
Boats bob uncertainly in the harbour
The sun is going down
taking the day with it – children, dogs, bikes, flowers –
they all go into the dark
Sun blood mingles
with the water; a book of night
is opening, colour plates of the passeggiata
bottle-green nightlife catching the light,
forgotten words. Vespas buzz
in and out. At the end of the street
a quiet church, which despite its whiff
of incense and bling, you’re unable to resist
resting with others on a candlelit pew
is consoling – God knows – always
Right now though, someone in a hot kitchen cooks for you
lamb, studded with rosemary, and behold –
a gelato moon shining on your table