luv is bright on the other side uv the tracks,
wood lines up,
wheels creaking streaming people across land.
train riding i am transported, eyes opening thru a port uv window.
luv luv luv the riding the
bringing me to the border uv the
infinite being within myself, the self that never ages,
on my way to wards.
i am alive inside my eyes reach out across the plain.
old wrinkled luving hands uv rome’s tree tops reach back.
i see grand mother and mother, hands reaching across the table,
i am inside my brown wooden dinner bowl uv salad, tossing up the oil and salt, licking the bowl to get a tention from the green beneath me.
this land, italia, is licking me from head to foot, like a dog, with a ball, ready to play.
this play ground, i am here, and my bones can feel it, losse, bones attached to meat, meat, attached to air, air mixing with blood and the whirl uv encouraging juices
like the push uv hands uv great parents standing behind their little ones on a play ground so they can swing higher and higher on the swing set. push me harder! i am going to reach the highest point to jump off and land on my cat feet. 9 lives to come weeeeeeeeeeee!
my lifted heart being swirled with memories uv land i tracked “must be in past lives”, says the woman at the airport hair gently lifted exposing her soft all knowing forehead. “its the hairspray” she explains. easily in her sixties but far softer on the eyes than all the walloping twenty sumthings brooding thru bags to touch up their makeup. she standing upright with a perk in one shoulder and a perk in one knee, waiting to grab her valice ( luggage).
her stance is speaking to me, “hey, i am a mediterranean woman, we move even when are still.”
oh, i must speak to her, she looks like a glamorous actress, sophia loren, aging deliciously each year like wine, with a pair uv hot purple pumps pulling off a pair uv blu jeans dressed with artigiano jewellery and uv course confident italian flair. so i approach her and within few moments she is already motherly, warning me, “attenzione, the men here will go crazy for a young woman like u, but… they are often married.!”.
(wow nothing gets by her)
“but ur parents are really good letting u come here on a one way ticket.” “yes i can see that tu sei italian. but it is strange u know. u were born in vancouver. u really were italian in ur past life”.
strange, the second time, since i have arrived and another (non-gypsy) stranger is talking to me about my past lives.
regarding this pastlife buisness, i change the subject, in allegria, in happiness, i tell her how wonderful it is she now lives in london, a city i am now feeling affectionate about, and is able to go between londra e roma, and in celebration uv the nonrational behaviour i am bringing out uv my soul, the walking up to strangers, and sharing our lives for whatever time, even for a few moments, regarding my past life, i say no thing,
realizing i have set foot on new land where i can re enliven and begin to stir the gestural magic potion thru my body, i smile smile
and let my hands do the talking.