REGRESSION

I went back again

To Rigotti Square where

You gave all the fountain pigeons names

I sat there until a fearful sky

Hovered like a scolding

And dread moved over me

Coming softly like kitten feet

I sat in the rain

Because there was no other place

I preferred to be

 

I returned to Dario’s

Sitting with a storm of thoughts

And eyes as vacant as a statue

Coffee evil-cold

And the waiter too polite

To ask about you

We who were steadfast as the sun

Reduced to the shell of me

Sitting across from

The emptiness of you

 

With the trance of early morning

I walked beside the dark canal

Touched by feather breezes

From powder-soft clouds

And sat on our bench where we rested

From midnight walks

In the days when time was an illusion

And we breathed dreamy air

Convinced that ours was the real world

And pitied those who couldn’t see it

 

Reviews

[J.P. Bristow]

Wordsworth once said poetry should be the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings..this you accomplished and then some...
Waterhouse once painted Tennysons Lady of Shallot ..and you have mirrored memory in ink.
..today's generation tends to be headstrong in the cult of sensibility ...sigh would that the world would embrace more whimsy and sentimentality...to paint a legacy not with regret but to embrace it. This was charming.

[DrD]

'Tis your response that is charming, dear lady. Thank you again for joining me here.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

we saw the illusions, others couldn't see....i like this poem so much....one of my new favorites on WC...

and i wish i had thought of this..."I sat there as a fearful sky hovered like a scolding"

i remember dreading those scoldings...and sometimes sitting in the rain is exactly where we want to be....there are times my friends will walk with an umbrella and ask why i don't get under it with them...my response is that i am delighting in the rain itself..i want to feel it.
like i felt this poem.

[DrD]

Very kind comments Jacob, that are deeply appreciated.

[Frieda P]

The longing and painstaking reminiscing is palpable on your page Dave, It's a dreary place to be when all that's left are the memories of such a once enchanted rendezvous. I love how you ended it, seems as though when we're so blissfully in love, we can't help but feel sorry for the other's that are missing out on such magnificence....sigh, this one gave my goosebumps chills.

[DrD]

You're so right and the only recompense is that at least we were once there while so many never found their way. Thanks, dear Frieda.