BLIND

They walked out of the snow
With slouched backs into the tram,
Literally; the blind leading the blind,
A gentle tapping
Pointing out their way,
And sat down next to each other
 
Their backs tipping over and their canes
Alongside their outstretched legs,
And as they sat finding comfort
Easily by touch and sound
Their distance to other passengers
Was felt in a calm hunger
 
For knowing where they were
As if their eyelids, like the horizon
Understood distance and shape
But could not be pressed further
Than beyond that end
To which their probing hands
 
Only reached for each other
Not for help, but for play
As their bodies enjoyed
The movement, enjoyed
The expected juggling about
And then laughed and she
 
Came closer to kiss
His closed eyes
Knowing that darkness
Does not always erase
Memories and that memory
Is never better than imagination. 

TUSCANY

From atop the hillside
the Valdiciana below 
wears a mask of darkness
in September
 
as she settles onto
his shoulder
the way young Etruscan lovers
may have once met
 
at the stone wall
of Cortona,
and her face nests
in his open hand
 
as if reborn and together
they grow larger
than the withdrawing light
of a reluctant sun.
 
She is paper-thin
and the air,
chocolate-sweet
as a cool breeze
 
sweeps its way
along the narrow streets
to wrap around
the golden hue
 
crowning olive trees
and cypresses
and the little farmhouses
just beyond reach.
 
They hold hands
and walk away
from the distant thunder
of Roman armies
 
outside the city gates
still marching
in the shadows
of time.

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© Copyright, 2013, Steven Pelcman.
All rights reserved.