The Italian Grandfather

Out of the south
he comes on feet
as if on hooves of colts.
Out of the Boot of Italy
he comes but booted out,
an orphan –
one mouth too many
for the remnants of his family
and his foster parents.

At twelve years old,
worldly and unworldly goods
stashed in a kerchief
rodded on his shoulder –
and shod in innocence –
he walks away…

Far north of Nice,
he dares the iced incisors
of the Alps to France –
like Hannibal in reverse,
but unburdened by elephants
and thence (by chance)
a loggers’ camp:
woodsmoke and woodwork,
the saws’ credo
and echoed requiem of axe;
camaraderie
where his innocence
is his protection.

Four years on
he heeds
his last nomadic call.

He walks away and finds
the walls and fields,
the vines and olive groves
of Provence
where he will found
a family and a dynasty,
and he will find
his destiny:
that mystic calm
that floods a life
and then bequeaths
the after-flow of love.