I came here once before when I was eighteen years old,

When everything was strange and exciting and new,

And coming back here has always been something

That I knew that one day I’d really have to do.


I have just one memory – of exploring on my own,

And finding somewhere in the town a quiet cobbled square.

A water trough or fountain was tinkling in the middle

And no-one was about, except some children playing there.


I had an awkward feeling of being out of place

In that quiet and sleepy village in the depths of Italy.

Like, why was I intruding in someone else’s life?

I think it was the curious looks the children threw at me.


So now, a long time later, I’m back in that small town.

It’s more or less the same, still sleepy, quiet and hot.

There’s the same feeling of – what am I doing here?

But I can travel where I like, so I don’t see why not.


Well, I’ve found a cobbled square with a fountain at one end.

Maybe that was it, but I can’t really say for sure.

I’ve walked all around the old town, camera in hand,

But am frankly too exhausted to keep looking any more.


So perhaps I just ate pizza on the square I’d hoped to find,

Or perhaps it was nearby, down a turning that I missed.

Perhaps it’s been demolished – or was nothing but a dream,

And my square in Chiavenna didn’t ever exist.


Chiavenna, Italy

Sunday 27 September 2015

Batch 1_793

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