on my homeland, romagna, and the floods

Foil shivers over trees. I grieve for my homeland as the first rain since wintertime outlines abu dhabi’s shoreline. under one sky the world falls apart - under another strangers bask and scream incredulously, grateful to be kissed by the sweet waters. it stuffs the mind with inconsistency, packs the skull with wondering whether curses might really exist. nine souls caressed by the rain - she loves our skins but clutches far too tight. reality is by design multiple, as in plato’s allegory of the cave. we, men of pulpy eyes, stare transfixed at the shadows cast on the wall of some cavernous home by creatures roaming free, forever fated to look in a single line. if this is the truth - and the moments of humanity around us prove it - then the world is simply a collector of realities. could it be that some are fated for destruction? none of it seems right.

I grieve for my homeland as she bears her roots close to her skin. centuries of germanic invasion have taught it to mop up spilt blood. the sweat of celtics, umbrians and byzantines has sculpted a masterpiece that two weeks of water never will erode. as I sit chained to an iron throne, the land seems to call me. through the fried rain the angels weave and thread and reach me, not with prayers but with duty. but now, beached on the sand, her touch dwindles to little more than a healed burn. as the slow rebuilding begins, all I can do is house the angels and send them back with messages of hope - to my lover, to my family, to my people. the city sleeps regardless. cigarette breaks and cured meats over dinner frosted with stress - so close to me, so ill, as if forli itself had grown a cancer and i looked up, an ant.

my land is in shambles. the sky lied - how could I ever say she looks beautiful today?