I Want It Back


In the Hall of Sciences, under painted cypress trees,
you stood behind the glass, waving.
I found the door to where you were
and gave you something, something for the stacks
in the anthropology section. I want it back.

Through the grounds of a villa I ran, smelling the sea,
holding tightly, almost dropping pieces,
running for you lik a leaf that chases a wind
until that one moment you grew slack
and laughed as I drizzled it over you. But now I want it back.

I lost you and consequently lost this, too,
and kept the emptiness because it held your shape,
but a child, standing in the mud, points to a hand pump,
wanting the water. I found out the well is intact
and I lean to push it because I want it back.


Donald Zirilli
1999