||Tonight The Heart-Shaped Leaves
I've smoked thirteen cigarettes today: I'm breathless
from the beauty and fumes of Italy.
It was a long long day of nothing
more than imagining the impossible: e.g., a poem
which must be written because the whole world
is waiting to read it. Now
I hear your gasps from the living room
and know you're doing your sit-ups. I
know also you'll come back to this terrace furious
with yourself for that long-standing reason
any thinking person of this fin-de-siècle understands.
Once again, mother, father, son
peer out from their balcony,
probably whispering among themselves, Who
are these strangers in the Pezzatini house
who stay at home all day
to watch turtles in the garden fuck?
Good question. Tonight the heart-shaped leaves of Roman trees
grow flowers as we sleep. Oh, to be in the Eternal
City when we both so want to change,
our dumb luck.