| The stone
floors of Venice echoed. Quivered, from deep
beneath the waters.
| The orange
sail captured the last of light and the 1st.
It came about: oriflamme.
| I thought
I must have, I could have, been
mistaken, had not seen them tall
towering conifers bearing snow and mist proudly, grimly, profoundly,
laced with ice crystals glittering, ghostly,
advancing, browning and
bending the meadow verges. I could not find
There were no conifers.
| Young poplars
and laurels winsomely embraced and farther
were the aged pepper trees knobby and loose-barked, pungent,
lacy, they were lacy.
| Feeling a
trace of cold like a vestige of memory,
like a dare of deja vu, I
found them again. They
seemed to be the same, the women, left
of the meadow.
| I sought
my breath, my centering,
my hope, to see them, my
vision wavered momentarily; I struggled to
steel, to stay, to not desire
| I found them
as I had.
They sat and stood, postured in moue, lounged and languished in stretch, smiled at 1 another.