The kiss

I woke to the raindrop day

dreaming of  Florence.

I dreamed it was smoothed into a garment of old stones,

wearing tangled reflections where

buildings curve like an arched spine

over the whispering skies.

They are gilded with

coins

of shifting light.

My bones ache for those days

when ceilings reached the sky.

I glimpse these memories in my heart.

Downstairs I hear my husband practising on his flute

that age old music that fills my soul.

The notes float upward

and they seem like

pretty flower heads

falling  over and into a jar already filled with stars.

Oh this day!

Oh happy hours ~

assaulted with beauty,

and the kiss.