If you should ask me how I have spent my life,
I would hesitate to answer,
Then would answer:
Among a thousand swans on the Dike Road in Holland,
Alone among Viennese waltzes from CD’s.
I would pause and say I only mentioned the happy moments.
I did not mentioned my teaching at a university
Where every colleague and student was an assassin.
I did not mention my life sitting on bar stools
Where the ugly moments disguised themselves as Chinese dogs
And jumped into my lap.
I don’t know why I give these answers,
I don’t even know why I answer,
For no one really cares to listen to my answers.
Mainly, when the moon trembles like a fragile fern,
I think what I left behind in Italy,
In a small hilltop, walled town.
The color of tears at the Milano airport, Malpensa.