Purple Clematis flowers on the vines.
It is 'Little Italy'.
A woman walks a tiny dog at midnight
in a park up the street from her home.
The moon is large above them.
It shifts as if playing bocci in the clouds.
Her family passing but her faith in
a good future still there in her soul's
palms, in her prayers and lamentations.
She sleeps little at night - reads the news
in Italian even though this is America.
And, she is beautiful inside like stars,
clouds, nebulae.
The dog sits on the bench next to her observing
stars with her in a vast night sky of possibilities.
She steadies her brown, nicked cane and stands.
Her auburn, short curls rustled by a breeze.
The dog and she will walk home now...
One cutie orange left in her brown paper bag.
The coffee of nighttime vigil awaiting her.
Her left hip strains against her olive jacket but
is good.
The dog and she smile.
The perimeters of life expanded.
The momentary gift of perfect night sky,
their fortune.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is beautiful. It is indeed a wise woman who knows that we can find our good fortune in life's simplest of daily or nightly rituals with our best friend at our side. Whether they be of the human or animal genus! I experienced many of mine with my Kitty Girl, whom I had for 17 years!