Lucca Poem (written September 2009)

People chattering around me, cute girls;
the boys leave, the trees hustle.
Into the light a drop of honey’s been swirled.
It’s Autumn and it’s nice. It’s, it’s;
If only –
A man baby-steps past me, warbling behind his lips. Thirty seconds later he wanders back, the sound still cycling through him. This is alright.