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I've been under
this weather for
over a week
wastrel fever binds
me to dredged up
rubatos of
bituminous
rib-creak &
yet last night
I chalked Befana
on my door
& woke to one
noblesse cinquante
bas-jarretière
stuffed with
carbón dulce
I wonder if
the Witch
still wears her
shell purse
filled with tuplets
steamed & steeped
in pheromones & moans
her last mementoes
of our lost organza days
of silent tingle pilfered from
the city's hum & drone
back when my head
was filled with
still transcribable
swooning dreams
you're listening to
Blue Valentine
somewhere in Berlin
& though it's 2am
I plug my chordophone in
& strum along
tunes hang longer
in air at night
as if their notes
won't permeate
a darkened sky
barbless stems are
set adrift & free
bobbing beacons on
a breathless sea
Varzi, 6th January 2018