Humming, the air thick upon roof
tiles reels over the slopes.
Miasma, kindled below by rules
of form, a lantern, still,
Spreads. Often it is a fraternal
offense that wakes me,
while within me ferments eternal
longing for farewell. Dear, spineless
Bologna, serious is
your desire for attention
in the hot streets. And grim
dreams the shame
of hands firm on the chin,
and yawns.
But the air is often heavy
in the moment of farewell.