Your words, Genoveffa,
through the open window,
telling me once again what to buy at the store-
don't forget, don't forget-
aroma of fresh bread almost a halo.

That was a long time ago.
I never forgot.
Like Dante
I have pondered and pondered
the speech I was born to,
lost now, mother gone,
the whole neighborhood bull-dozed,
and no one to say it on the TV,
that words are dreams.