Nico in the Piazza

throwing crumbled bits of bread into a
cloud of pigeons that form from nowhere
seemingly magically on the cobblestones at his feet
here in the piazza where the action of others
swirls around us

to whom i am a large blurriness
Nico, stands erect on his five foot two frame,
scant inches from my face he speaks
bouncing a bit, ready to burst with energy
his longish wiry white beard jiggles

i notice the bulging layers of sweaters,
his dark ancient sporty coat,
while topping his head is a
wintery wool sea farer’s cap

at a point i interrupt his dissertation on nature
to ask what he is doing in these days with his time,
his life work, he reiterates, had been varied
acrobat, artist, dancer, always within the arts

now he is thinking about the mysteries on the globe
that's how he put it, forming one with his hands as he spoke
with a smile on his face he says nature,
he thinks about nature and the mysteries,
using nods of his head to show how much he means exactly that

last year i wrote about Nico
click here to read that piece