14 July 2011

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
of windows

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.


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