10.04.2020

she can singe my memory in advance, so I go where she leads

Why does she precede every journey, waiting by 
the side of the road, sometimes, sometimes under 
a flowering tree, seated on a culvert, stubbornly 
wearing the same dress, as close or far as thunder 
curling up a mountain? See the mat of sunlight 
under that cedar? There she is! Look how the hedges 
above Recanati blaze like a line of verse, 
or how the palm or the pine tree blazon their edges 
above where she waits in the dusk, lifting no arm 
in greeting, her gaze looking through you. 
How did she know where I was going, so calm 
in her unacknowledging patience, the fringe 
of her russet locks as her figure recedes 
towards our inevitable meeting? She can singe 
my memory in advance, so I go where she leads. 

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