i am in italy now,
kieran’s apartment
bialetti
answering phones
“pronto”
i am ready.

the novelty
of kettle
and markets
clotheslines,

pocketed
aprons
mountain
tunnels

tender,
i am thinking about things
that will never come back.

traveller
pines,

like sleeping
in a big bed
until a ridiculous
afternoon time
then strawberries
and toast
drink tea
in my pajamas

this is what i want.
the bliss
of walls
of personal
space.

white grass
spread florally
island,
fortress
warm april
a dress
with lace

siesta
the laze
of it, grown
up napping

sun sea,
mediterranean
sometimes i think of peter
and i do not know why.