Yet Do I Sometimes Feel a Languishment
I must suppose I'm fine. I laugh a lot.
My work is bearable. I have a home.
I guess I like this town I'm in. I'll not
annoy you with the glass that's half ... half what?
I spend a lot of time on Google Chrome,
meandering the streets of Naples, Rome,
Arezzo ... why is that? I've lost the plot?
Or am I just a closet polyglot
who missed his calling? Afternoons are light,
and Donizetti's lapping at my ears.
At times like this, my hobbled soul takes flight
and dreams of Italy. When I have fears
that all my sweetest songs have now been sung,
I turn to Italy. And I am young.
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