Sunday thin clouds

Sunday thin clouds,
seventy degrees,
air is still.
is it really mid November?

as is our Sunday custom, i walk to Trastevere.
on the ancient stone bridge over
i give a euro
to the accordion player from Japan.

soon i am seated at the back table,
under the awning,
opposite the church Santa Maria,
beyond the fountain in the center of the piazza.

first coffee and then a spremuta,
that’s fresh squeezed orange juice,
on this day quiet, yet alive with hushed chatter.
Luciana arrives with an amica from Firenze,

then my friend Maria shows up.
later she and i go to the Chinese restaurant
to partake in our Sunday usual.
the owner at the restaurant asks.

everyone had asked where is M.
yes, even the accordion player on the bridge.
two weeks, i tell them. i’m the advance man,
she’s fall cleanup raker.

walking back with my supper,
leftover lunch in a bag, i marvel at the beauty
as the last rays of today’s sun spill gleaming,
this Roman golden and so very still mid-November.