A cycle written after a journey through Sicily
Lapis Lazuli below,
Peeking politely out of pockets and creases
of the blooming hills,
Stone, grass, honey,
The taste of endless sunshine
Some with silvery scales,
Some armed with suction cups, teeth like daggers, glistening gills,
All wearing Mediterranean perfume.
Flies feast, waltzing on the ice
Cacophanies of calls
All melts into the air
Filling the straits between the stalls
Where produce-laden bursting plastic bags meander
There's always room
for one more pear
Pediment hovering over honeyed hills
Like sleepwalking, ascent up paths of cacti
Among the metopes time stands still
The amber haze condensing into guttae
To stand beside these rough and ancient bodies
To burrow deep into this sacred space
Skin turned to stone under the sun's caress
It's here: eroded, weathered, battered, yet
Unmistakable: a superhuman peace.
whirlpool of chiaroscuro
The guard: are you afraid?
Afraid? No, just impressed...
Well, maybe a little
Frenetic walls and floors
Where Midmarch sunbeams
Strike golden halos into flame,
Byzantine infinities hover
Above the saracenic daydream.