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Porto Ottiolu MAG
From across the
Rocky, craggy,
Aging pier,
Lights play off
The black sheet,
Who suspends
Swooping, dipping,
Arching boats.
Pappi's neon flashes
Illuminate dried
And faded flowers
As they urge the
Clouds to cry.
A sprawling market
Casts shadows
Of underground wares
As laughter,
Sobs, shouts
Grab at a chance
To be heard.
Drooping palms
Line the roads
Beside early figs
And baggy flowers,
Whose petals share
The sunset's glow.
The hill's imprint
Solid ridges
And creases along
Dusty skylines
As the life in
The night of
A Tyrrhenian coast
Dulls
And vanishes.
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