(Taormina) (Sicilia 23)

he had cured skin from
bathing in the sprays of salt.
the espresso visage was solid and worn
no sugar could sweeten it.
the daily haul nourished many but never the wallet.
the struggle to believe in more
than death would probably bare holes
into that heart.

but then!
moments after coming undone with hunger
the trek upwards, further strain
on already sleeping feet and a
body lying upwards in state
after the evening sun kissed his shoulders
and forehead with her oven breath
and taunted expiration to take forth

he would sit, like me,
and pore open himself to this moment
the wind would blow open his lungs
fill them tenderly
and he could have peace for himself, finally.