There’s an island off the coast that
I never went to.
I think there’s a blue grotto there –
we’ve all heard about it –
where wild women, their hips swaying as they work,
sing, and sigh.
Where the guitar-players with manly chins
stubbled and dark,
and strong white teeth
laugh, and stroke
the familiar cat that passes by.
There’s the sound of children playing
in the swell of the waves.
We follow the cobblestone road
under a sky that’s heartbreaking blue
to the yellow house with the peeling paint
on the edge of a beach that’s smooth as a pearl.
But none of this matters.
All I want is to be with you.
The island fades; the city is razed
in my heart
and the huge flowers wilt
like longing that flees
before the day.