Time passes.
\nThat saves us.
\nItaly is old,
\nyet the black shutters of our room
\nopen like eyelids.
\nMy heart flies into the distance.
\nThe hills of Monte Catini
\nare gentle and blue.<\/p>\n
Monte Catini is young with love.
\nWe danced last night
\nalong the street.
\nWe took a carousel ride
\nand held hands.
\nThere was music
\nand people gazing into glasses.
\nChildren licking ice cream
\nfrom their cones.<\/p>\n
The street moved with its people,
\nsilk windows of light,
\nno one hurrying.
\nI felt Mary\u2019s hand in mine,
\nthe touch of the carousel,
\nour feet stepping from the curb,
\nsaw the luster of geraniums
\nleading to a door.<\/p>\n
It was not just beauty
\nthat moved me.
\nIt was youth,
\ndust coming into flower,
\nlives rich with perfume,
\neyes,
\nhuge in the face of children,
\nand you and I,
\nfinding in a faraway town
\nthe omnipresence of home.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Time passes. That saves us. Italy is old, yet the black shutters of our room open like eyelids. My heart flies into the distance. The…<\/p>\n