Notes from a Heart of Vagrant Longing

Twenty below
and Ruth walks downtown
hands in pockets, hat tight
over her ears, no scarf.
The light from Julio's
draws her up the stairs to the bar
and there he is on the right,
brooding alone at a corner table.
On the left Ruth's friends laugh,
chew poems and stories, wave her over.
She chooses him, dark in the corner
of some alcohol soaked drama.

She drinks coffee
and peppermint schnapps,
the sweet warming her near
frozen bones.
He leads a verbal waltz--
mellifluous words,
Shakespearean tenor
evoking the Italy he loves. Heat,
the complaint of cats around the fountain,
the cooing of pigeons, old women in black,
kerchief bound hair.
She follows, awkward, confused,
awed in the breath
of his brilliance. Envisions
his coming fame, embers
burst into flame.

But his words falter and freeze,
his novel dissolves.
He totals his car
dries out for a month,
flies alone to Milan.
While Ruth
more Sheridan than Shakespeare,
types on.