WHEN YOU WENT MISSING
by David Radavich
In Rome I had a habit
of getting lost—
which fountain, which park?
You were nowhere
to be found,
no cell phone that worked,
no visage among the villagers,
just wandering like mice
in the labyrinths
where I could not sing
to you, nor yell,
nor tell you where
or who I am.
Communion
was impossible,
and we were desperate.
Desperate to reunite,
to find ourselves again.
Eventually, in the milling
crowd you emerged
like Venus from the foam—
not naked, but new
in this ancient city
of dreams and nightmares,
impossibly beautiful
spires and sculptures,
tantalizing food and drink
now awaiting us
in a charming trattoria
with checkered tablecloths
and a padrone
with florid stories
and wine like blood
given for us.