Monday, 25 April 2011

NaPoWriMo 25/30

Descent from Brunate

We were as gods
looking down on Como
as if we could decide its fate.

Pasta served as ambrosia
on that clearest and cleanest
of frizzante days.

One last look at the
snow-capped giants guarding
mirrored waters

before the fall
of the funicular
joins us to Icharus,

another who flew
too close to the sun
then met the earth

with popping ears
and fresh memories
of heightened love.

It is too soon to say
whether compliment
or insult is meant

if you
call me
“grounded”.

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