Alessio Zanelli

Sunset poem
The sun goes down at Podere Mezzastrada in Fiano, Tuscany, Italy


She was pausing in the midst of the setting sun,
a honey disk as large as the hill underneath,
no further than ten yards away in front,
the gaze fixed on my reddening face,
not the slightest jerk of the eyes,

as if suspended between earth and sky,
sweetly swaying in the evening breeze,
unaware of where she still exactly was,

no moan, no whisper, no word,
only the warmth of tenderness,
the elusive bond of eye contact,
watertight and delicate at once,

until the disk was lost to view below the black horizon,
and after a brief afterglow everything went dark,
not a shadow of space and time was left,
nothing but slowly waning memories
peppered with urticating regret
not even an infinite night
could ever soothe.

First published in The Nashwaak Review (Canada)