cobblestones

Some servant of the Medici
ran down this narrow street
into this same stony silence:
our sandals slap the cobbles,
echo off these ochre walls as
easy rhythms of another time.

In shade, these cool stones
still keep the morning’s touch;
in sun, they blaze with searing
orange lust, driving lovers inside,
others into sweet holy shade
inside tall echoing frescoed walls.

A young woman walks ahead
hair bobbing, small purse swinging
beside her hip, muscles carrying her
easily along the narrow marble walk,
silent, a meditation available anywhere,
but here, a sweet musical song
that haunts my Canadian dreams.

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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/wordcurrents/ Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
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