Remembering Italian Men and Being In Love After Rain

The pine trees are black,
Twisted and abstract by
Evening. They are Picasso
Trees. Little birds are
Hanging upside down
From the burnt-looking
Boughs as if they were in the middle of some
Primordial forest.

Not arched over a chain-link fence.

I am feeling particularly pastoral
Today, accentuated
Only by the silver
Off the top of
Passing cars.

Once there were
Photographers, Italian men with
Liquid eyes
There was
One. It is easy to
Fall in love with men wearing yellow shirts,
Hair like the jack pines against twilight. He grows
Silver in memory; so many
Passing cars.

It is even
More pastoral
To be in
Love after rain and
Protruding roots, slick and mottled.

A blackbird
Scolds from the
Neighboring pines.