Sunday, May 01, 2016
where dozens of birds – sitting and whistling
make their intelligible sounds
to one another charting out their new day
From the pensione on the hill
you see the red tile roof of the Duomo.
Farther away the sky chokes from the gray scars of orphaned air
I hear the woman’s heavy laughter
in the house below bouncing as it echoes through the air
I imagine she is with her friend, her lover.
Her laughter becomes part of the landscape
that makes the countryside wild and alive
I hear the woman’s laughter again as the church bells toll nearby
two vastly different sounds one from the body of the woman
the other symbolizing the body of Christ
I wondered if these two entirely different sounds could –
if they tasted each other – be transformed by love into one another?
How large is the chasm between your soft flesh and rough faith?
Between faith and the imagination?
Is experience everything?
Your laughter rushing forth uncontrollably
The fleshy tissue of colors
of each of your hands
and your summer fingers undressing
the wild dreams of the night sky