One thing falls from another – like falling rocks:
The signs PRIVEL DA CRAPPA! caught in the headlights
As we careened down forest roads from the Stelvio
(DANGER OF ROCKS!) We lay that night
Chastely back to back in a single bed.
We had first kissed the week before, as meteors fell
Over olive groves and cypresses – Notte di San Lorenzo.
Tonight is San Lorenzo. I’ve been reading a book
About Rumantsch: PRIVEL DA CRAPPA!
I’m using the pepper grinder I bought in Florence
That summer we came together without coming,
Not knowing all would come to nothing
And we would fall hurtling down the bends
Of time screaming without a sound.
What would we live? – lust
Falling out of love. But when did we fall in?
Were we not just good friends?
Wasn’t that the trouble?
What were the fragments in the eventual rubble?
Lust, friendship, hope? It was hope
That drove us down that perilous slope.
No meteors now: the night sky is dull with haze
And we are living out our days
On separate continents. The peppercorns are ground,
Fall to dust.