Greener Grasses, Bluer Seas

Naked and grateful
In a warm bed,

My skin is thirsty for the sea
And my bones
My lousy bones, they cry

for the passeggiata.

My lips languish
In the saltless air,

And the fields of chamomile
Would strike the irons of my spirit,

But sometimes,
Even if you can –
You shouldn’t go back.