(Catania) (Sicilia 9)

they’re cheering for goals they can’t see.
they carry tunes across the harbour from the pub
where no females watch
every time.
the waves carry the wind. not the other way around.
because the wind wishes deeply
it could sound like this
an unending solitude of the
violence of crashing
and the tenderness of massage.
ah! three women, young. beautiful.
they’re not the ones listening to
the pussycat dolls near the water.

the sun’s baked such fresh humidity
that Etna has been replaced by
the force of the sea, this heavy humidity
which rivals mountains and volcanoes
the way it doesn’t need to struggle to be noticed.
the police are blocking the beach.
why, I haven’t figured out yet.  It’s not
to prevent enjoyment of this moment
everyone already has that.