Florence

Small station.
Tuscan night.
One missed train.
Florence in sight.

I came back
for someone
I left behind.

An old man asked
who waited there.

I said his name.

“I knew him.”

Florence.
I came too late.

Carried his name
through all these years.

Florence.
One night away.

I thought I came
to ask him to stay.

“He waited for you.”

Then silence.

“He died last winter.”

First train.
Morning sky.

I bought another ticket.

I had to say goodbye.

Florence.
I came too late.

No one was waiting
at the station gate.

Florence.
But still I came.

Not to bring him home.

To say goodbye.