Thoughts on Late Dinner

Potatoes and apples,

An unexpected mix, 

Old logic returns, brother

Explained on one of those 

Long days ago,

You just make it up as 

You go along,

Look at the frying pan

And decide what’s next.

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=7hmnRg1Q67E

Going to Italy

The first time I saw Italy

We’d driven in our English car, debarking from

The ferry in Roscov, French northern port, and

Down through Massif Central, a chateau or two

Along the way,

Blankets of blue lavender and yellow rapeseed stretching far beyond imagine.

We’d picnicked on the sides of curving dusty roads,

Never sure where we were going; not much caring, either.

Red round tomatoes,

Just-picked peaches, still dew-splashed, and warm.

Camembert.

And pain au chocolat from

Some small patisserie. 

Driving, driving, villages and fields became Dordogne

And then Provence.

We camped in meadows, dined one long twilight at Auberge-I-can’t-remember.

In the garden of the plastered, timbered inn

There was a swing set for the children, so we lingered as

They climbed and braved at acrobatics,

Sipping aperitif, espresso, then more drink until we

Relinquished days and miles and 

All gave in to sleep.

Next day, our friends turned back, their holiday

Concluded; re-crossed the Channel; returned to moor,

And we drove on, into the tunnels, holding breath

One mile or ten in darkness and ten miles or one 

In brilliant day

Flashing, flickering through Alps—snow-topped—just winking glances; 

Climbing without knowing

Up to French lakes—and Annecy—with crimson potted blossoms

On the rough stone steps of town,

And back into the tunnels, then, until the last one opened into

Sensuous mist, a bit of rain, quixotic flirt of wind

At highest borders. Ahh, extravagance! Cyprus, Russian olives, fragrances,

The beckon of our family: we’re rushing now to see them.

Maggiore, Como, and Berbenno.

Discovering and entering the lush close grey-green palate

Burst from Alpine detours, 

We come home to Italy.

1995
Exeter

Italia

On your way

Perhaps a bright blue roadster, 

Call it a Fiat, at that time useful

With a bit of rust, a divot here and there,

In those days the top

Was always down, and

Sometimes it all made perfect sense

And sometimes it didn’t,

So it goes, so it goes, life 

Is like that. 

Still, those roads were so sweet,

Calling you, and I can see you

Laughing.

Open Road

I sit, sniffing the twilight like farmers do,

A hint of chill carried 

On a breeze no longer hot,

Fixing easy on the grill on the patio,

Of a sudden this breeze wafts

Round the corner, 

Brings linden, heady, rapturous.

I’ve been waiting for it. 

Brother says to me

Let what seeks you find you

And more pieces settle gently 

Into my rich life,

The dawning that I could live

In moment to moment, scent to scent,

Ephemera in skies, 

With love around me, love

Around me,

Is a lifetime’s pondering,

And I’m old enough to let the

Past be, old enough to let it be,

The swiftness now in time’s 

Motion rises to the winds

Seems I hope I’m coming 

Into balance, seems that I 

May fly.

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=WyHlchGBD2E

Coda into New

You do get to the point

You’re going to say and do

What you want to say and do.

You’re not going to 

Do anything anymore that

You don’t want to do.

It’s liberating, actually

And realizing, it occurs to me

To be careful.

The backstory word 

Rattles around in my head:

Tacit. 

In the strangest way

I am standing on the outside

Of my life, feeling it 

In ways I can’t express

The sense to let it be

Is filled with some new grace.

An order returns.

The hedgerows round the pond

And back towards Bobby’s fields

Start to bloom and knit again, tho 

Porous. I’ve been watching 

The light come 

Through sedum, cottonwood, 

Apple, pear, bramble, 

Rambling rose, elderberry,

Juniper, cedar 

Oh all the rest, the hardwoods and 

The weeds, 

I am living where I am,

Where I want to be. 

Where I want to be wanted.

That doesn’t mean I will be,

But I might.