Ecco il mio amore

(song for De Andre)

I met you in January, four years
after you died
-it was cancer of the liver-
the two of us in my father’s country;
you would have been 63.

I heard you soft, lilting
singing in my father’s tongue, before
I finally learned to speak it;
my timing wasn’t right
but yours was always perfect.

I was only three when
you asked me “where,”
“where is your love?” and
“when did your heart die?”
but I never answered, I was just a child.

21 years flew, and
“they’re coming to ask about our love”
for once I did not hesitate;
we sang of Marinella
and the king who kissed a prostitute.

And they kidnapped you; locked you in a cave
that’s where love, red love, got you
-to the Mountaintop Hotel-
how you forgave those bastards
I’ll never understand.

Then, you fell; to me, it mattered
you’re far away, that matters too
so I play a record for you
a candle song to you
wishing I had met you.

But I swear, that afternoon on
the church steps, in the porticoed city
a guitar and young man made music
-such human, wistful sound-
he was you, Fabrizio; he was you, and I was found.

1 comment:

Wanderlust Scarlett said...

This is absolutely wonderful. Thank you so much.

How is it that I missed this here? I am so glad to have read it although, it has left me wondering what else I might have missed herein... so I'm going to sift through older posts and find more treasures.

Grazie Mille, mi amico.

Scarlett & Viaggiatore