Ticino Cedars

Their tops give off an echo.
In their shadow, a crowd of answers.

Unlike most winter trees
ravished by the umber sky,
they keep Cimmerian shade,
fusing penchants
for history and weald.
There, fog invades,
painting converging frescoes.

Each tree, a forest temple
in the imperial park
once occupied by Romans.
Near a gate wrought by Orphism
one branching sentry screens
a lakeshore villa bewitched
by its rooftop statues.
Lean and chaste inside
with bronze fittings, rooms watch
water's oration on the walls.

Cedar colossi suffuse
a swerving pathway
with their riddled fragrance
turning emotions over so that
torment becomes elation.
Beneath their level limbs
an aqueous mystery
as beneath a dragon's skin.