"Velvet wet precaution..."

Velvet wet precaution, a savior

salivating over dampened greens and golds

and soggy grey, grounded olives past

passengers far, far away in hopeful

sleep.

            Those ravines dividing Tuscan sun

From Latian solarity, the revelation

that there is no particular one, no center,

despite Peter’s rock and/or Orpheus’ egg.

The circular line of expiational time

expands, mocking clocks, drenching benches

and presiding over all—‘though there are no—

second chances. The gist of arable fields,

fallow shoals soaking up the thunder

of another era, a Roman sojourn

                                                 surrenders

to the thought that becomes this velvet

wet precaution: that you might get caught

in the rain.

                        8/29/2012

                        Florence-Rome