A breathless train ride in the heat of things,
I squeeze my red knees to the rough skin
of my holdall, and smooth crease lines
from the leather of my brow.

A jarred window throws open,
and Italian air lakes in the crescent
of my neck, bathing me dry.
I fluster though lush dozy vineyards,

Nourished in sunlight and a harvester’s loving.
I pass him by as he minds the tender grapes
that nestle in their leaf beds,
as if gentling his own brood.

Come Bologna, I am flushed
in open space, until rinsing off the sun
in a flat of lavender
wreathed to every door.