Along the River Arno in Florence —
A return trip on the anniversary of the birth of my son — how different life can be in just two years and then being here in the same place in 1998 — 13 years ago — how different I am — the same window. Who lives among those walls, these walls? Shutters of green against walls of gold. I imagine swimming in the olive green water as in Cork — to know the place & its people truly. I try to be as inspired as I was at 22, stones of mythological figures I used to study — the way the world works.
Sometimes I wonder where you are — us — where I am at this exact moment — how different we’ve become, lines that haven’t crossed in years. Why everything emotional leads back to you & yet you are almost empty from these pages. There’s a hole here in the bridge that’s like my heart, where you left it — and all the windows, the little lights on in the two along the bridge — how it’s not like that anymore — wondering what happened to me along the way of getting beaten down, beaten out.
If I could pull down that window
shade. If I could reach it
the simple geometry
everything is more romantic
in the mind
how to amaze you
when you never gave me the chance to
Oh, Charlie, what did I
do 11 years ago in Ireland,
letting you leave me.
how to get the life I want
what is that life
the Brits (a couple w/ their cameras) called it (Arno), “just a little stream.”
To read about my Italy “sub journal,” click here.