a crumbling asphalt road
   is the only way up
winding amid wild slopes
young brush  and vinyards
heavy with grapes

in the distance
we see the evening sun
   catch bare white mountain peaks

   on the hills before them
   glitter little towns and villages

the air is mild
chestnut trees
   keep dropping their fruit

the farmer's restaurant
   announced downhill
is closed

so is the church

a German shepherd dog
   silently
lies watch over the winery
   behind a cast-iron gate

the castello
turns out to be
   a not very impressive ruin

advertisement and reality
seem to have grown
far
     apart

what makes me write
is the quiet of the hills
   through which we walk
the sight of the full moon
   we enjoy
   with my hands
     cupped over your *******

our togetherness

          * *