Or felt only the distant pull of the Apennines at night. I view this sight and feel the fire of grappa gone down too quickly. I want to take you to the steps of the Duomo in Firenze, buy you a leather vest from the old women in the stalls and carve La Mora and my initials across the back, Alma Schindler Mahler Gropius Werfel. Some moons are too luminous to praise, and so, up early, I boil water for my wife's tea. The sun floods the land with radiance - too pate for farmers cinching burros, or brailleless beggars on the stoops.
Every heart conceals a few small secrets or, if full of amplitude and plenty, large ones.
I begin with a green bough, forsythia - supple and yellow with flower. I end there - not because I am impoverished, but because I have it all. KING ME Goldin opened the drawstring, spilled the checkers on the table. Stay right there, I'll get the board. Red, I've got to be red, if that's okay.