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.