It Was Not a Windmill
That was not a windmill, it was
a beautiful wings-cutting mechanism
with a vitreous red peacock inside
who puts a solar edged Venice afternoon in motion
in a gentle blue square
into which we stuck our wings
so that our heavier-than-air bodies could happily flutter
with one thousand and one flexibilities
on the ethereal geometry above the roofs
where pharaonic flags pompously glorify us
as large cosmic objects pushing comets towards the others
in a fireworks game of our honeymoon…
and, suddenly we found ourselves down:
no, it was definitely not a windmill!
www.simonadancila.com
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