We are supposed to be on a short working holiday
– but cannot stop thinking of
After the tulip tree that is really a sort of magnolia
erupted in its pink-and-white-and-magenta concatenation,
but before the wild mustard sang out in waves of rippling yellow
— weeks overdue —
— perfectly on time.
Soon, you will be whizzing around that curve … as we, too many thousands of miles away, are gazing at …You, Pietro, born into a family that knows the secret-of-secrets better than most:
Keep a close eye on beauty, wherever you are, no matter what happens,
and it will see you through.
Though we, sadly, are no poets, we thought of a fine old one with words in the spirit of what we would like to say –
Labour is blossoming or dancing where
The body is not bruised to pleasure soul.
Nor beauty born out of its own despair,
Nor blear-eyed wisdom out of midnight oil.
O chestnut-tree, great-rooted blossomer,
Are you the leaf, the blossom or the bole?
O body swayed to music, O brightening glance,
How can we know the dancer from the dance?