I looked up across the piazza and
saw a girl with ***** blond hair in a brown dress
in the fourth floor window of the blue building,
the one next to the building with the faded painting of the ******
on its facade.

She was looking down at the fountain,
and all of us sitting around it.
I looked down to grab my pen, but when I looked back,
all I could see were the lavender shades in the window,
swaying in the late afternoon breeze.

When I finished scribbling these stanzas, she was back
for a moment, as if to say one final farewell.
But not to me, but the fountain
And everyone else sitting around it.