Three years ago, I was in Spain with my family, and the following week we were in Italy.
Azzurro is the color of a peaceful sky, more intense than celeste, and lighter than blu (or turchino)
From plane to boat to taxi to train,
my suitcase, blue as the hands
of the man in the song, is an anchor
against the wind that never comes
to take me above the burning sun.
This is the cantare of my bright blue
suitcase rolling over cobblestones
and up the steps of high, arched
Venice bridges. Azure above red rooftops
deepens to cloudless cobalt sky.
That is my cerulean baggage
dragged five flights in Florence
for a tiptoed glimpse of the Duomo,
then up to the rooftop washer
under a square of clothesline-
crossed ultramarine sky.
Here I am, sitting on my luggage
near a Fiumicino beachfront
waiting for a caffe latte and a key.
Later, my indigo companion
waits upstairs like a melancholy dog
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