I remember those nights
on the river Arno
where lush trees veiled opal moonlight
and soft winds brushed gently
like slow, sad notes from a flute.
In the city of divine inspiration
the demons and angels of the Renaissance
curled like wrought iron through the humid air
their legacy remaining on cobblestones
and in the stars.
We drank to adventure those nights
and from the bottle
we poured our muse.
© 2005 Kate McCulley