Sicily

Sicily is ripe and rich
like a fig in late July,
as enchanting as a witch,
as eternal as the sky.

Her beauty lies in imperfections,
perfectly aligned;
in broken tiles;
in light reflections
of the sea in love’s deep eyes.

It’s the flair of the buildings.
Every terrace speaks in rhymes.
Every street is a beginning.
Every door is an invite.

Sicily is brisk and burning
as the tumult of the night.
It ignites the spark of yearning,
the pursuit of the divine.

Like a garden,
like a temple,
like street music on a square,
the soul of Sicily is gentle…
I long to breathe her salty air.