Postcard from Italy

Postcard from Italy

I climb your words as you have all day

the steep cobbled streets of Firenze

to the top of hills to look down on a grey

city shrouded in mist, the Academia

the Brownings had a villa here years ago

your exclamation marks are easier

to get around than long lines to fresco

sculpture and paintings in the galleries

it is late - the Uffizi is next

Elizabeth running off to Italy

diction and rhythm of her sonnets

scaling the heights of Casa Guida

your words as busy as a tourist bus

telling me about the poem in all of this.