***
The house is clad in persimmon tiles,
And stands over the Alpine town,
In its eyes – the lavender Dolomite chain,
In the ears – the crisp hiss of Garda’s gown.
Behind it, the climbing dancers – mud-plastered homes –
Rise up a steep slope,
And beyond that lies lazily Monte Velo – a dozy behemoth,
Of creme limestone fur and thyme-covered paws.
Walk for a minute a sunlit path –
Thickets of clashing kiwis and gliding grapes,
The sky does not waste time
And had draped the windows in a blue veil.
The moon has come – the femme fatale –
Seducing the first on stage – gold-haired Venus!
And once again my eyes are down – the star dream –
finding opal chalcedony with a persimmon
glow burning deep within…
