I can't breathe without
A crescendo of panic
Crashing into my lungs
Like a flood of salty, bitter water.

I was breathing in the beauty of  Scala dei Turchi,
as I sat atop pure white marlstone crescendo,
etched by the winds and the rains of time;
the view emphatically embracing the coast of Agrigento.

‘Twas along those balbutient banks of the Mediterranean sea
I saw him silently standing there,
his hands resting in white linen pockets,
the salt wind blowing through his peppery hair.
Serenely somber in quiescent stillness,
he was dashingly debonair,
his form earnestly beseeching, a wish
delicately wrapped in the guise of a prayer.

He peeled his stare away from crystal waters clear,
I was transfixed by eyes that gallantly gazed at  me;
eyes that emerged from pools of a deep sorrow,
eyes as transparent as the turquoise blue sea.

Deftly ascending those limestone cliffs,
he was reminiscent of Saracen pirates penetrating;
with such determination of gait and surety of purpose,
he approached me with palpable power emanating.

His drawing near sent my heart swiftly a-pounding,
a halo of light behind his sun-kissed face –
I imagined I saw a  shadowed smile emerge
as he nonchalantly quickened his pace.

He took his place beside me
atop the pure white marlstone crescendo;
and we waited for the sun to descend,
against the skies of beautiful Agrigento.

I hung on, waiting for the final breath
there was nothing.
no standing ovation,
no final crescendo

Trembling as it sounds,
Every time the keys play down low,
My life tones & pounds
In its own decrescendo.

Things become shallow,
As blurry as fogged glass.
Can I pull myself out of this hollow
Or wait for time to pass?

Let your encompassing melody
Lift me off my hollow.
I wish to be free
So I can hear your sweet crescendo.