The end was near.  We pressed
Closer together.  We walked
In the Dolomites, observed
The dirt from shoe soles
Ground as small dark specks
Into the white surface.
Both of us very talkative, 
Had talked all morning about
A castle with a dungeon
Turned into an art museum
In Locarno.  But as this day
Became gray, we were silent.
We sat together
On the a crenellation of a ruined
Castle in Lenato, watched
The silver of the olive trees' leaves
Undersides darken..  Down
In the town below, church bell rung
To celebrate a wedding.
We looked down at the couple
In their formal, traditional attire.
We silently looked at each other,
As if words were not needed
For intimate communication.
My fingers rubbed the ends
Of her Slavic-Teutonic blonde hair.   
   

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