“Absent one, how I miss you on this shore
that conjures you and fades . . . ”
A wall topped with shards of broken bottles
runs along the lane that winds up the hill
to this house above the Ligurian Sea
not far from where the great poet lived.
One of his lizards visits my balcony.
And that mysterious “you” of his,
during my time here, has become you.
I’ve looked for you among the lemon trees,
in waves flashing through canopies of pines,
in upper windows fluttering with sheets,
and on a small beach below rocky cliffs,
its gray stones crisscrossed with white lines.
And there I found these tiny, glinting beads
of colored glass hidden among the pebbles—
like drops of honey, and some between, the color
of your eyes, and two or three the pale blue
of inlets where foam has clouded the water.
Copyright © 2020 Jeffrey Harrison
Used with the permission of Four Way Books.