where leather smells
where cloth is beaten, where vine leaves tremble
spit and dice
acid shade
as only the dumb know
all grades of jealousy, anger and despair
fleas of Florence

that single circle

in regular brick

bluebottles by day

just as of old

nothing had happened

by the hour

in dazzling shards

an Egyptian or a magician

the winter of 1852

this was different

fingering the vegetables and fruit

‘it was but yesterday’

now she was happy