Sunlit full moon in the azure morn sky
Flocks of swallows in formation elegantly fly
A sinuous dance a spectacle enchanting
My vision of the world awakening at dawn.
I reach the coffee bar, sit on the terrasse
Sip the dark brew light a cigarette peruse
The newspaper reporting Bertolucci’s death
I reminisce our encounter an interview
For my independent study my last three credits
To a degree, eyes caught by the little bottom-left
Article rambling on birds the mayor’s resolve
To release hunting hawks deflect the acrobatic course
Of those pretty prays still swirling over the square
For them to understand once and for all
There’s no place for them above the eternal city
While romans are compelled to hold umbrellas
Under trees on a cloudless day, where rain
Turns white blanketing pavements with a slimy
Smelly substance some believe to be omens
Of good luck should a drop land on their shoulder,
Yet it appears we rather settle for no fortune
Kill the birds and fold our brollies.
[Featured photograph: Migration birds]