My Santiago

My Italian Couple

I have seen them, for what seems like years now, Infrequently, At the odd juncture in the curves and hills around home.

They go for walks in the gentler seasons, My Italian couple.

In the fading evening light, They pass me hand - in - hand, And I, I look at them and nod and smile.

They smile back.

We are walking and sharing our common act, Me with my dog, And they, with each other. My couple are small and elderly. He is bow legged, dresses immaculately, and has a wise face. She has thinning hair, And a face lined with life.

They walk hand - in - hand, Keeping a steady rhythm,

-

In tune with the camber of the street -

taking in the autumnal air.

They seem to fit the worn landscape, My Italian couple; With its blue mountains, Its rolling hills, Faintly rustic and gently aged. And I have questions about the secret they seem to share? Something about moving, About love and family, About loneliness and pain.

And through it all,