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No streets what they say.
No lovers
In the Via dell?Amorino,
No beauties
In the Via delle Belle Donne.
Only
The lovely women
Silent on their shelves,
Flowers before them
Fixed by the lovers of Saints.
And no plenty -
The hands
Stretched out for farthings,
The boys
With imprisoned birds,
While the amorous
Touch
Through blind chinks.
The bridge:
And the jewels
A deception.
Still
Hands grasping
Till the fingers
Reach to the clouds
And pull down
Nightfall.
Death of a day,
The river fades
And the last bird
Moved homeward
In his hungry cage;
This
Fifth of June;
No flag
Concerned with these.
No days
As they call them.
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