She, on a stroll to the railing
her body slightly inclined over the parapet
her left foot aimed backward in parallel, hovering above the floor of her terrace
She wraps her fingers around the balustrade
and examines the fields on the hill opposite
void and without further witness
as silent as the dusk
Fields only hours ago whipped boisterous with
robust torsos that are now splayed across the terrace of the facing osteria
Having sown and culled that day
they carry life to the village
an inchoate ecstasy over a daughter’s engagement
She leaves the sunset and the terrace groves
returning to the villa
a monument to receding centuries
where half-emptied glasses of wine accent the countertops
Andy Oram
January 14, 2025