“it’s still spring in Rome, a perennial incitement to live. We meet in Piazza Cavour, me with my selfish FFP3 mask, Luisa with her altruistic blue cloth one.”
“I dreamed the sun, very low,/painting me a mustache of sweat and coal.”
“the city’s landmarks/are illuminated/by your stopover in my thoughts” (TCTC Translations)
Greek amphorae sprouting branches in the toboroches/ and Dante’s whole paradise embodied in a dragon fruit
And not one protection/ has come to them/ nothing sound.
“‘Chicago has nothing to be ashamed of in comparison with New York.'” (1918)
In the city that some used to call the Seattle of Italy, nowadays you can only overdose on poetry.
The mouse saw the Ghost of Death approach him as the humans struck him with the shoe, stick, broom, and a series of quick kicks.
“Exchange of Glances”