the days when the light feels
endless
and just imagine what it must be like
way up north.
sitting to wait for the sunset
at nine in the evening
and _look, mama,
how quickly
the sun goes down
sit here, beside me, and watch the sky.
Bare feet
anywhere,
dark skin
dust and sun.
Our little weekly projects,
disorder of scissors, seedlings, trowels and flowers, soil and tiny shovels.
The first firefly of summer,
just tonight
a female, still:
woken from the dark of a long winter
inside the stone of a bench.
Gatherings of snails
between walls, in pots,
under the earth.
One snail
alone
crossing the flower bed,
accepting my gift of salad and
passing the little plant that still has to grow,
incredible,
curling up around a dry stem and
stretching her feelers, every millimeter
a great effort toward the sky,
I’d never seen before
a snail
watching the horizon—
Found on a branch
a little toy plane
ready to fly again
A postcard from our Italian June in the mountais
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