Winter streets and frozen
fountains how easy
to forgive oneself the chill
leaves burning on the plain
'neath Orvieto. Your eyes
the same skewed colors as
my own, turned down
sterile, stern, on
our child in disapproval.
And now these giggling girls
you forgot yourself in
putrid memories this train
sunk in soggy ponds
and the bloody chamber
of Bluebeard's secret room
where you walled us all up.
2/17/2009
Florence-Rome, in transit
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