Remembrance of the Father...

finding the white swan
Flying across...
The Sun rising gold
he thought she by her mere passing him told
he had not trodden along the road
To that architectural marvel-
A building old made of white marble...
For long...

he thought...
he was at Nuova Marina...
and the white swan
Like a ballerina
Dancing to the tune of the breeze...
Flew by...
Gently...swooping down low
Before rising against the gold of the sun...
As if to remind and show
him the path ordained...
The Faith...

And Cicero...
The youngish speedracer of the whole of Napoli...
Thought of Father Mackenzie...
he imagined His calm face
His white blinding dress
And soft kiss...

And so many other things
Like His slightly bent gait...
His humourous sense...
His insight...
His bending down to appreciate
A grass flower waking up...

And the seven kilometres
he glided...
In two and half minutes...
Thinking only of Him...
He standing white...
Bright
And an altarpiece...
Made of glass...
Forming a perspective...
Through which the gold entered like rays
Of joy...

And also
Cicero
the youngish speedracer
Felt...
How gold melt
And seeped from top to bottom...

he sped...

With the swan in his heart...
The gold in his head
And the Father all over his soul...

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