Another Nice Day for the Race

A line of mountains

hidden by clouds.

A race of purple clouds

at low altitude

to suggest a faraway place

or a race of non-human

non-anthropomorphic sea-birds.

One whole coast in lavender.

Another burnt almond

broken into by a cape

that extends past a wake of white,

washed houses, inverted arches,

oranges, lemons, olives, almonds, oleander.

The limestone cliffs end in turrets

that line the neck of the valley, connecting

in a breezy funicular with everything on the Marina Grande

the Marina Piccola and the rows of oranges and lemons

stacked up like the olives and almonds

in green shadows. A path

runs up the face at intervals, joining the port

road with that traveled by traffic

from which the trucks that make their drops there

climb and move into shadow.

And reading time for space

this sublimest coast creaks with sunlight.