03: TUSCANY STONE
She taps her fingers on a counter of Tuscany stone
While down along the lane, the barber
Is humming a tune
The monkey on the windowsill is swaying in the sun
The scent of orange blossoms
Drifts through the clothes on the line
Her contours are austere, she fills her space
Gradually
Her almond eyes are clear
As she listens expressionlessly:
The abbey bells are summoning the nuns
Encloistered there:
They may ring at any hour
And when they do all must endure
Here comes the knife sharpener
His bell goes clang clang clang
Children watch him:
They don't say a thing
So many men have fallen in love with a version of her
A skirt of simple cotton
Some rumour that they overheard
She hooks her hair
Behind an ear
And bends toward the fire
To light a cigarette for the man who is not there. Now
Slowly zoom out from her, the monkey,
And the town
The end.
Till we meet again.
