Gasp by Anna Piutti

How could one not crave
the kind of truth that makes
trust skip a beat
and fall
amidst wisteria storms
when the rageful season
swarms
and sneers, shamelessly
infesting the senses?

Anna Piutti, Vicenza, Italy

Breakfast by Anna Piutti

Seven a.m.:

High above the roofs,
the frost-lacquered
crane branch
holds a
plump, radiant
orange.

Hungry for warmth,
I grasp the vital
sphere and
slice it
into thick
wedges.

A paper towel on my lap, I
sink my teeth
into the morning glow:

calm,
juicy.

Sweetly sour.

Anna Piutti, Vicenza, Italy