There is a:

Shine on, you crazy:

‘crying and glowing, three months and showing’

which I read as three moths, flying

over the alps, a red beetle nests

the beetle is a dot; we are big dots

we are big, big dots

in laigueglia, the sea extends to me

a mother dreams of ‘dea’

she is married to the wave that carried her mind away

she is a big dot, wrapped in a beach towel

with a picture of a singing barbie on

brushing off the flying moths

landing, the land is wet and green

grey overcoat warms, or should

the sun hath forsaken the dots within

the three moths, flying, lean

down

Italo

Italo in the sun, his long lights hiding
Italo coloured
boarding the FR101, man speaks to man
Italo in the sun
sleeping