*
.
I will walk away from
the crowd and their buzzing
finding an island to float serene
on away from cravings
looks and strong odors
to my own shadow
well defined
.
.
.
*
.
on the very center lane
.
it used to ride and carry
back and forth so many
hundreds of people
.
workers students lovers
each gazing out once
in a while resting their
eyes on the waves
.
dancing on the shore
they still do it
.
for a smaller
public their
essence is
that not
to depend
on a public
.
.
*
.
it’s a hard switch
from listing a dumpster
of emotion to observing the
less visited bay of serenity
.
having very few words
at use for such new place
and fear of letting enthusiasm
out a kite flying high
.
people born unhappy
turn green under a dark
cloud if you let happiness
out but why changing them
.
yet I know some are here
now craving for news from
outer places words as rare
pearls bright near the heart
.
.
*
.
some children still
enjoy looking out of a bus
window searching trains
trucks more than the blue sea
.
exulting at what
we have lost sight for
memorizing every street
name while we tired sit
.
unconscious among furrowed
brows sore and deluded a curtain
on our window to shun away the light
we who like to walk on our own feet
.
.
*
.
I’m wrapped tight to this
coast that turns my gaze
toward the open sea and
nails me to the hills
.
will I say I loved a place
and it would not let go
of me I was a slave who
felt free to go it will
.
enchant me every time
I returned to its ancient
route and moved in
the eternal under current
.
.
*
.
shall I describe to anyone
now or when I’m old
the many bosoms of
the Mediterranean gulfs
.
that fill my heart periodically
since I was fourteen I think
I would have not imagined
to be here still after all
.
I visited the metropolis
I lived in and left as a capricious
gets tired of lovers the oceans
I crossed the skies I consumed
.
I keep on being called here
to have my days emptied
to skim thoughts to the bones
to love those bones
.
.
*
.
I’ve made this bus
my temporary office
to move along to travel
having hands free from
the wheel and peripheral view
.
each same kilometer
new emotions and sights
for how long I’m not sure
being carried as a young child
.
curious the same connecting
dots and thoughts fleeting as
clouds in the wind subject
to weather conditions
missing none
.
me in a time capsule
while you sleep exploring
the world around me no one
speaks Italian the coast has been
covered with bodies of immigrants
.
.