The Door

I dreamed of nar­row streets of Rome with sun­light brushed against the open windows

I dreamed of iron door– its carv­ing weave of han­dle too hot on fin­gers– opened into cool­ing
shad­ows of the courtyard

I dreamed of foun­tain that shed its scar­let paint, strik­ing the strings of icicles—the fever­ish sparks against my flush­ing skin, turn golden streaks that melt and slither under décol­leté of tawny silk

I dreamed you tore that silk away– the orange flames against your bare feet burn­ing the angels perched on flow­ers of the tiles’ marble…

I dreamed you twined with shad­ows and left your light within the class­rooms of your wis­dom and dusted libraries and,
blaze with me, at holy city of the sin, that used to burn to ashes its daz­zling bells up in its lofty cobalt dome—the end­less sky of ancient Rome..

2010.