'Sono grato...'

She said nothing for long...
He also had nothing to send
Through the ether...
To send shivers...
To cause flushed up face...

For the evening had written it all...
Through the leaves when the misty rainy moist feel did fall
As if a song full of pent up sobs
Of her...
She
Who once called
And only half way stopped
Saying
'Io sono colpevole...'

That too
Stated incomplete...
Left purportedly for him to complete...
He then left only a star
On a stone...
That surely somewhere near her bosom shone...

For
This evening
She apparently quiet
Sitting near
Resting her head
Upon his shoulder
From a million light years course ...
Whispered a bit morose...
'Sono grato...'

And that lugubrious music of the italian tune
Running through several unwatered dusty sand dunes
Came...
To him
Like a boon
In guise of a bane...

He could have laughed out loud
But the evening interfered...
The evening so much sans doubt...
The evening so calm and mist like...
She intervened...

And
Like silence without drops of pins...
The music came...
'Sono grato...'
As she claimed...
Unclaimed...