Green fingers roll down the hills
Embalmed with moss beneath the fingernails
Scratch marks on the clay path—where his brother lays to rest
Opal blues and hailstones, the colour of his tie, sitting
Loosely around his tanned neck and unshaven collar

Caro mio ben, Credimi almen.

He sips his cup with an assertion of an immortal wedding
Where cane sugar and hydrangeas line his bathtub
With his brown feet upon quartz tiles, he washes the salt that lines
His spine, his perspired forearms are bronzed and leathery
He sobs the Roman chant under the fountain

Nel nome del Padre, e del Figlio, e dello Spirito Santo. Amen.