Coming out of the lounge for retired professors,
Failing to conclude the inconsequential debate on the death of literature
(Hey, have I been kicking against empty air all my life?)
I started the car and turned on the audio.
The Canzone Napoletana sung by the old Tenor Stephano,
On the Circular Road, suddenly my eyeballs are brimful with cherry blossoms.
Opening the windows and driving slowly to pull up at the sidewalk,
I accompany my humming with the songs.
Thirty years ago,
The azure-blue waves lapping against the Napoli seashore,
When the aroma of orange flowers invaded my brain humming like a swarm of bees.
Still the waves may cast soul-stirring resonances against the shore.
As if mesmerized by the song, a couple of flower pe...