The red and green marble of the brick-faced Curia
Much brighter and cooler than the figures in the book,
For it once felt the warmth of Caesar’s and Cicero’s touch.
I marvel at the hidden grandeur of the Medici palaces,
The gardens of marble statues that capture life itself,
And vibrant winking frescoes inked with golden dyes,
All concealed by the rough-hewn stones of modesty.
I marvel at the gondoliers in watery Venezia,
The iridescent spray from the boat teases the sun
And the cool, soft, salty canals caress my hand
As I resist the urge to slip into its embrace.
I return to the fresh scent of strawberries in il Campo,
The jars of nutty brown Nutella piled high in the gelateria,
The putt-putt-putt of vespas threatening to run me over,
And the tarnished green Bruno who watches over my slumber.
tw #25
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