The Infinite

Always dear to me was this lonely hill,

and this hedge, which blocks most

of my view of the distant horizon.

But sitting and thinking, I imagine

the boundless space that lies beyond,

the incredible silence, the most profound calm;

my heart is nearly frightened. And as the wind

ruffles through the trees

I compare its voice to that infinite silence:

and it comes to me, the eternal, the dead seasons,

the present and the living, and the sound she makes.

Lost in such immensity, my thought drowns,

yet shipwreck is sweet in this sea.

Journal Entry 3

Saturday, October 23rd

Time passes slowly this

morning; grandfather

dead on the couch upstairs.

I sit on a bench

outside, drinking

coffee, smoking, writing. It's

a beautiful day, windy and cold.

Journal Entry 2

Wednesday night, 10 pm.
I sit on a plastic green chair, full
moon above and
mountains not too far away.

Hours on the beach,

white sand by

the balcony of our
over-priced hotel

smoking a marlboro,
drinking prosecco.

an empty

bottle to my left, an empty

glass.

The sun just set

and I can barely see the ocean

just a few yards away.

Journal Entry 1

May 12th at the Casalinga,
alone, 10pm.
Today there was too much to
think about. I wished all
day to be able to sit
down and write. I thought
about relativity. That is, how
everything in this universe
is related. It's a big
topic that maybe I'll
tackle tomorrow.
What am i thinking right
now? Well, I'm sitting
here with a few
crostini toscani, and
about a glass and a
half of wine. A couple
from Vancouver was sitting
to my left earlier. I
was pleased to be seated
next to English speakers.
After ordering and having
a glass of wine, I
(dammit, there's no more tiramisu)
stood up and said "Excuse
me" to the woman to
my left. I didn't look
at her or the man with whom
she was seated
as I spoke. I knew the
impression I gave.
They thought they were
sitting next to an Italian.
I pronounced the words "Excuse
me," in such a perfect American manner,
in order to tell them one thing-
I was one of them.
I smoked two
cigarettes outside,
hoping my second
course was still
being prepared. I
walked back into
the dining room, and
the Canadian woman
watched me with a
smile as I took
my seat, to her right.
"I almost ate one" she
said, referring to my crostini which had
arrived while I was out. So there it
was, the beginning of
a short and meaningless
but enjoyable conversation,
all provoked by my
intentionally exaggerated
"excuse me." I planned
the whole thing. I wanted to
talk to them. I wanted to
know why they were in
Florence, how they found
this piccola trattoria.
Ah, the wine is finished.
I have more back
home. I just
noticed another couple
that is speaking
English.