Cobblestones drink the grey dawn light
Iron grille guards a plaster wall
Edges curl like burnt photograph
Address faded to ghost script
You trace the stamp with cold thumb
Lira coins long since retired
Tourist ink bleeds into rust
No cafe opens for you yet
Pigeon feathers stitch the gutter
Vespa exhaust kisses marble
Choir breath rises from your chest
Hymn fragments float past your lips
You trace the stamp with cold thumb
Lira coins long since retired
Tourist ink bleeds into rust
No cafe opens for you yet
Barista unlocks green shutters
Espresso steam writes new letters
You slip the card in coat pocket
Wool holds warmth of stranger hands
You trace the stamp with cold thumb
Lira coins long since retired
Tourist ink bleeds into rust
No cafe opens for you yet
Altos hum in Santa Maria
Sound spills through keyhole cracks
Your voice finds the harmony line
Third below the melody
Square fills with clatter and steam
Postcard stays where you left it
Rust blooms like orange lichen
Time stamps nothing you can keep
Afternoon shadows stretch long now
You mail it from a yellow box
Stamp catches midday Roman sun
Ink dries before the truck arrives
You traced the stamp with cold thumb
Lira coins long since retired
Tourist ink bled into rust
Cafe opened while you watched
Telecaster fades on cobblestones
Your alto hums the walk home
