The little ferry brought us
from Sirmione
and the medieval castle
past the ruins of the Roman villa
where they say Catullus
once held court
poet of adolescent loves and hates
and of debaucheries that he was privy to
the poems he called songs
all very personal
contemporary in their candor
yet one wonders
why there's nothing in them
of the beauty
that surrounds us here
this lake set like
a sapphire with its border
of gemstone towns
backed up against the hills
that rise sharply behind them
hills that to the north
become the towering Dolomites
Limone named
for the famed lemon trees
that the Venetians
planted long ago
and are no longer
grown for export
though the town
is still well stocked
with the namesake liqueur
the limoncello
which we three
once we'd moved
into our rooms
and settled ourselves
out on the balcony
watching the lake turn
from bright to dim
to dark
were more than happy to imbibe