Roman Moon

"You know I'm lost/ and I don't want to be found."

--my poem (excerpt)

I have returned to America, and I'm ready to resume my weekly blogging.  Expect to hear a lot about my trip to Italy for the next few months!  To start it off this week, here are five poems I wrote in Italy.

Roman Moon


Young moon floating

in a Roman sky

You know I’m lost

and I don’t want to be found.

Ancient, twisting, and dangerous,

something about these dark streets

leads me back

to myself.

Train to Florence


Reckless and violent,

the train speeds over slick

wet tracks, through gray

olive groves and fields of sunflowers

shimmering in the misty rain,

fading into nonexistence.

My heart is in my throat,

my train ticket, crumpled and hot

crushed in my fist.

Writing Poems in the Uffizi


There is room for infinity in my heart.


I’m so hungry,

but not for you;

It’s this painful beauty I desire.

I’m writing poems in the Uffizi Gallery in Florence,

writhing on an old carved bench, grasped tightly

by the moment, and by my own anguish;

Will I endure this hell forever?

I can’t bear it, yet I can’t turn away.

I feel the greatness within me,

but not my own greatness;

inside my soul are ancient rooms,

and gilded hallways with painted ceilings,

and hanging on those ornate walls

are all the paintings I love,

and all the paintings yet waiting

for my trembling brush…


Drunk in Urbino

To Christina


Women lost and laughing,

racing up and down the steep and cobbled streets

of ancient Urbino.

My heart is so full,

it bears the expansive unfolding of beauty,

the old bookshops and gelaterias,

the vistas opening up behind hidden alleyways…

I’m so full of poems, and art, and life,

a divine intoxication,

so perfectly drunk with you, my friend,

and that strong negroni, illuminated

by the evening light,

dark amber liquid, clear and strong,

pouring down the roof of the Duke’s palace.


Shattered Vessel


I stumble about, dazed,

ravished by sunlight…

My soul is a shattered vessel;

each day it breaks,

many times each day,

again and again it cracks open,

and is reformed, remade,

and filled again with beauty,







Story of My Trip to Italy: Part 1,  Part 2,  Part 3