Leaning

Another night of upturned lag, you nap in the short space where it's dark outside then twiddle your thumbs until it's time to go. Walk through a quiet capital in the middle of the night but it's already dawn, the boats lie still in the water but how light it is. Sit on a sleeping bus as the sun rises over a town that was always beautiful in summer, always beautiful in the hours when you didn't need share it. The flight is late but you arrive to familiar faces behind the ropes, what treasure. Rearrange your languages but it all comes up French, there's an old castle at the edge of town where you live now, at night the whole place creaks and you know something is haunted. You're certain the ghosts will be friendly.

A wind blows through the magnolias, sweeps little clouds across the crescent moon. You haven't slept in days. Will the Tuscan night to whispers secrets into your dreams. Pray this will still be real, tomorrow.