The street and the village from two stories around it.

The street and the village

from two stories around it.

.

We work to our deaths

the prayers for our penance

that we may wake one morning

to the grievances behind us

.

It is there

I sat to play

the baby, grand as a piano

an Italian town

children to lunch

in the silence of fallen rain

a tall drop wanting.

.

I see the church

steeple steps

new whiteness

the cooks in the shed

weddings on the way

brides name as mine

secret into the love of a husband

the schools, the work or the play

the hardening knot of

what’s been brought on us today

.

A freshly scraped grave

the condolences of a new enemy

the familiar face behind the counter

bringing the fresh brew of coffee

.

We long to take our steps

in trustful moves toward one another

I wonder why we may be hiding

in the desperate spare of forever

our secrets dreading

the souls between us.

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