We were an amoeba.
A group of cells--
living and
breathing
stretching and
pulling this way and that--
usually with
imagined purpose
doing what we were
designed to do:
seeking nourishment
like krill in a
whale’s bale.
We were a messy
lot.
We came, we saw, we
conquered nothing.
The Italian peninsula
is big and hilly--
full of stones and
grass and trees
and cities rich
with reminders
of those who came
before.
It has sought to
tell their stories
of discontent and
relief;
of desires of
family;
of struggle and
victory;
All the stories.
It has done rather
well at that.
It is a good thing
we were together--
our hearts and
minds
willing to see, to
take in.
Busy with picture taking and
memorizing tableaus
of our foolishness,
whether I realized
it or not,
our amoeba was
seeking joy
and joy we
received.
Ciao Bella!
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