Am I Still a Stranger if I Exchange Greetings With the Stratosphere
sitting amongst the rooftops
in Venezia, cigarette burning
between my fingers, smoke
curling out my lungs, twisting
from two directions into the clouds.
I shout “Good Morning!” to the reviving sun.
Raindrops from the sherbert sky
tickle my bare thigh, crosses
and caressess my shins
and dips to my toes.
It continues slipping
through the slats
of the patio flooring, creeping
through the cracks
of a local’s ceiling
into a bucket she keeps
in her kitchen, which
she later tosses outside
to the cobblestone street to be
lapped up by
a jubilant stray kitten.
Am I
part of the cycle of
this life? Connected, and
for a moment, a key component
to the greater nature of
things.
Morning, the assertion
that the heavens, the earth, and
the body are a singular yet,
symbiotic being.
Her glorious tongue is omnilingual.
Sajah Francesca
