I was trying to work this out:
those with nothing will lose even that.

And the other side: that more
will be given those who have much.

Someone pulled me aside
to whisper, "Use it or lose it, right?"

And their motto: "Those who have, win;
those who don't, won't."

There are people who will tell you
Jesus was the first venture capitalist.

That he desires for us what others sell:
limos, jets, homes and handbags.

But only if you believe irony is dead.
And forget he had no place to lay his head.

Jumping down from the train,
map in hand, I felt a lightness in the air
I had not known since Portugal.
The moment glanced up in a reel
made for memories of Florence in winter.

Hunger of three days sharpened my senses;
I became a mouth, a tongue, a feral dog,
tracking by scent and sound. Eyes wide open,
I stepped away from knowing. My breath
unwound, one moment by another.

By the foot of the hill was a little stand
mounded with pears ripely gold, a still life
fragrant with life. A single pear in its fullness
of time bridged body to soul, the juice
spurting down my chin to my hand.

In the softening bruise of New Year's Day,
Maurice Chevalier had died. Near the Ponte Vecchio
I paused as a radio hymned his song:
"Ah yes, I remember it well. . . ."
Oh yes, I remember that well.