How far must we travel to feel a change,
outrun the sun, the seasons, familiar faces?
Days turn from pale dawn to golden sunset,
and in between the light dims and brightens,
clouds pass, rain rains, and the world grows.
One day I will go to Naples
and live in a narrow street
where the balconies are full of washing
and the streets full of voices
and the hot and pungent smells
of lives lived in common.
I will go back to a childhood
the time almost lost
when such things were sharp as sunburn
and broken seashells beneath bare feet,
warm as a language not quite understood,
and they made the difference
between passing time and absorbing its essence,
eating it raw and saving the pips
in a special box