I looked up across the piazza and
saw a girl with dirty 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 Virgin
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.