In the rear view mirror a house,
glowing, it is a blue lit from within,
where an azure cascade of effortless
intent, strengthened in proximity, is
assured through tangible merit.
Our sea before and behind, its mountains
forward and beyond. Lavender swells,
crests of indigo and jana share mitigated
resonance along wisps of an anisian trail.
We drove Positano to Veneto, held tight in
assurance of a journey without end, our
routine trappings of what was, held finite
in that distant place oceans away.
A random midst of cars in late afternoon,
the black cloud of a freight train fades our
fractured lens to blue stains of villages past,
while horses graze in a vanished field beside
twisted leaves of magnolia.