we leave on our Christmas tree lights and outdoor strings as well hung in a swinging rhythm along the porch railing blinking colors write notes

While you in Italy study cherubs, at Autumn’s first slap of season’s colorful cold, the Swiss goats hunker in the run-down shed Hanoverians shelter on

The “City of San Francisco” uniformed dining car porter a middle-aged black man walks the coaches and observation cars taps a simple chord on the

Table for One My eyes are closed in the village café. Espresso basmati rice wrap goat cheese. My lips graze your lap, on my hips