Suddenly, now I live on parallels
As a new city, country
Manifests itself around me
In a grey fog and a splutter of smog.
Milan: the Italian antithesis of Italy.
Lurking beneath the umbrella mountains,
And incubating movements.
This city is like a whirring.
A buzzing, fast, metropolitan, vast
Push beyond a terracotta past
Into the unexplored, the not yet transformed.
A cityscape like cracked earth.
Buildings fissured by sun stained tarmac,
Littering shadows from the balconies,
Looming down like gargoyles.
And this is now a home.
I am concealed, unknown
And sealed away beneath the sprawl.
Alone, I piece together language like a puzzle.
But tonight, I stumble home
Through the night and wine,
When I turn a corner to find
An illuminated Duomo
Lit up like a petrified, white ghost
As a spectacle of statuesque marble.
This is the river’s source.
This is from where the city pours.
Rippling out across the map
In the shape of a bicycle wheel,
So that even when stopped,
Cast and halted,
It is still turning onwards,
Overflowing and spilling out streets,
Canals, tramlines and undergrounds.
A dynamism, truly electrified.
Swallowing up antiquities
And sweeping the ground clean
Into an international blank.
However, it can also relent,
Like a cigarette and a slow cappuccino
Or a warm, green veranda in the rays
Of an unconquered sun god.
When life slows to the speed of a deep breath.
Milano, you have chewed me for a year
And spat me out as someone new,
While I continue to submerge myself further,
Profoundly, like you are my baptistry.