In Tuscany Outside the duomo, pigeons peck at the rice Friends and family threw at the newlyweds, Who, on their honeymoon, are having Their first fight since becoming betrothed, A gleeful, exhilarating fight that later Tonight will crumble into lovemaking. An hour ago, a man everyone is kind to, Who never learned to read or write, Blew all the candles out and closed The massive doors. Sometimes he dreams Of a fire he is responsible for, only to wake And realize it was only a dream. In the dark church, Mary Magdalene Sets down the jar of oil she's been holding All day and combs out her long, unruly hair Like a girl combing her hair in the mirror, Remembering the way he looked at her. In one of the houses you pass on your way Home someone is singing, but when You stop to listen, they stop.
I love how this poem takes me back to the streets of Florence. Not sure if that's the Duomo you describe here, but for me, it feels like there.
Lovely poem, great story telling.