Catania, Sicily

From the terrace of the Diocesan Museum,
I lean on the railing and look out at the city—
domes, balconies, flags shifting in the wind.

The sun is low.
Light warms the stone, turning it the color of honey.
Far off, Etna rises white against the sky,
its snow bright enough to sting the eyes.

It’s March.
The volcano sleeps.
The city below stays awake, streets darkening.