R.M. Dolin, September 12, 2024
Do not mistake my silence for
surrender when it is my one defense.
Don’t misread my need for
Mediterranean wind to mediate
my motorcycle as it weaves along
the Italian coast in avenues of escape
masquerading as adventure. Not when
ragged, rocky shores rising to
deeply weathered cliffs
lull my bike into hairpin curves
so sudden footpegs scar across
ancient Roman cobblestones
that like me, have seen much more
than they let on or easily share.
Half a world is not enough
to ride you off my mind
any more than late night Negroni’s
can alter the outcome of this journey.
The distance between the end of you
and new beginnings is measured in
diminishing intervals of regret
silhouetted by melodic movements of
orchestrated hope.
Final background poem for the novel, “The Dangling Conversation.” Kyle returns to Italy mourning
the loss of Nadia’s love. He rides down the Italian coast as late day sun silhouettes
his solitude. He’s on a motorcycle rather than the bicycle he rode during his first Italian trip
through the mountains of Milan many years ago when he mourned a different kind
of loss.
