upstairs of michelangelo‘s david only an unnamed painter dismissed as mediocre (described barely by association with influencers Agnolo Gaddi and Lorenzo Monaco themselves hardly tik tok stars in this academy) empathises with the needy, the orphans and widows depicts st yves advocate of the poor ignoring the fawning rich on his left dispensing small rights to the under side
roman legions trudged through borgetto the evening before camping at lake tresimano where the next June dawn 2241 years ago almost to this day befogged betwixt the mongrel hordes of Hannibal they were defeated
cyclists traversing lake‘s circuit criss cross this solo walker and the lone Kress 1200R robot lawnmower tending its grounds should they wish sight of the 258 borgetto inhabitants remaining according to the 2001 census they would be disappointed
later that day massimo of nearby passignano informs that borgetto lies at the intersection of umbria and tuscany occupies the communes tuoro, cortona and castiglione to which when property taxes are due they are paid trisected
oh dear it’s not Saint Peter’s basilica the Santa Maria del Fiore of flowers in Florence the Venice San Marco Assisi Saint Francis or even the Parma tailing at tenth of famous duomos in Italy
the Cortona Cathedral on republic day is alive with real worship as three pews of neighbourhood youngsters earnest with their parents consecrate themselves in the ceremony of first communion
and one not yet of age kneels in anticipation of tomorrow’s grace
It’s a trip marked fully by the fully marked Portents abounding from Rome to Florence to Cortona Every step to the Brunelleschi cupola worn by forebears Every snap in the Ufizi stale before the iPhone is aimed
Sunday afternoon taking out the trash to eco appropriate bins (Even this task not mundane but meaningfully marked so glass does not mingle irrelevantly irreverently with gross) one finally has a roadside encounter shared only with the divine
crunched close by curation into sequence not choice as if that taste nostalgia on my tongue wasn’t paid by her whom i sometimes glimpse on Sunday visits behind faded eyes
my one-eyed day begins in Munich with bacon and scrambled eggs in a business class lounge because the ticket calls for it and poetry doesn’t have to be poor or accessible or full of insight the crass the mainstream the poor privileged deserve their voice too properly plural don’t they
my one-eyed day ends in Zurich with a latte in a big blue cup in a cafe called kweer because my aching vision is tired and woman-watching need not oppress or be exploitative the gaze deserves its unenlightened moment even if we dare not admit it and will hide this away from censors prone to cancel
this is the part of the walk I mark
when the sky grumpy all afternoon
could just as easily clear
that instant when
it could still be fine or storm
familiar as your up or down
daily attending that turn
from balmy to squall
that instant when
it growls and downs its load upon
the families scurrying for shelter
that instant when
i go the other way
rush into the rain
as I have always
fallen into your pain
grandpa and ma will bring them to the Jewel this weekend
at the entrance they will display 4 tickets to the nets booked hastily for some time when promises were forever because parents are free and children good at bouncing back
antipodal 2011 