Beautiful Girl Café
                                    For John


At dusk while we sat and talked
in our Beautiful Girl Café
across from the Pitti Palace
your imagination practiced loving
that tall, virginal waitress
serving us cups of lemon tea.

When she left our table
your temples rustled with
a delicate wreath of pine,
and when she drifted through
the airy garden behind the bar
your breathless body followed
on a pair of goat feet.

Call this a twilight fable
but I heard jeweled hooves
chiming on the courtyard tiles.
I saw your face grown innocent
when you returned, your gray hair
tossing like broken reeds.