Estate

I dream of Liguria.
See, Bruno had it right,
The nostalgia, the fragrant petals of every fallen flower —
Odio l’estate.

For it was so sweet,
The heat that ran in rivulets,
And the tears and the sunsets
With my sister by my side.

And I will remember
The cobbles against our shoulders,
And the castles that we built —
And which the sea knocked down.

We dissolve, ephemeral,
The lightness and the scent of the salt;
But all returns and returns, after a time.
All heals.