Your brick walls
your water protects me
your bridges connect me
barred wrought iron windows
keep me trapped inside your walls.
Grey is the color of your skin
erosion all over your concrete
tiny rectangles shining the light.
Scent of garlic, basil, rosemary
invading my senses.
Words like amore, amici, bella,
ringing my ears
gondolas gliding with my dreams
floating around your paths.
At times, it is dark here
between the two walls
a white bridge leading me
to my gelatos, cannolis, bacis.
You are ever so strong
magical in your man-made creation
waterways of loneliness
snapshots of your ever-lasting beauty
images of you around the world.
No picture can capture
what my eye beholds before me.
Churches are magnets
like no person can or ever will.
You have been fought over
been destroyed like Marilyn
but you are the constant…
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