The horizon from the vantage point of Ischia
Still glows
John, our time there
We inhaled so much history
It was the landscape
Walls and cities and arenas
It was the water
Liquid bradyseism
It was the air
Angry volcanos, humid oracles
As physical an ancient scale of the horizon
As our imagination could muster
Yet even Glück’s opera rotas
Into the lake
Could not unpuzzle time
What I mean
Is back then,
At that time, it felt that so much history
Meant that we had time too
Years later,
Whatever “now” is
The glow of history
On the inhale of our cigars
Right before it turns
To ash
As we hold it in our hands

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