2.

Asa Nisi Masa.

It's, of course, so many elements.

The deliberate movements, thumb poised

lightly

so lightly

on the nose.

Italian embraces the sounds--the textures of the consonants, air puffed diphthongs--they run their lips and teeth through the meanings, decadence justified for the sake of my enlightenment. I covet their ways. I avoid my words, fear vulnerabilities revealed if my tongue lingers too long on the roof of my mouth.

But the simple, oh painstakingly simple guitar.

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for my every breath. I cannot blink, I will lose the splendor of her mantra against the languid arpeggios. She whispers within earshot of 40 years but the nun cannot hear. Or perhaps, neither dare disturb the moment.

I was not thinking of you when I watched this scene. I was thinking of Fellini.