In her dream
she dips her fingers,
languid, in the river
that flows, liquid silver,
by the window
of the fourth floor
without entering the decorative
wrought iron that adorns
the sky.

She understands,
the ineffable,
the improbable and the inexplicable
nature of this moment
and she smiles, mischievous smile,
at the radiant people
who lazily pass
armed with oars
and bathing suits
striped by the sun.

With delight
she contemplates the lucky
parade, joyful multitude
and she remembers
another encounter
with friends
on a train with broken
floorboards
through which wild
flowers exploded jubilant.

And, upon waking,
she discovers
Rome painted
by the daily beauty
of bread and circus.

– Amy Nocton