Mi amor, mia domina, bon Santa Catarina:
I dreamt that you were skating
along the canal, gliding by
the cargo ships making way,
with dark hulls riding high,
ignoring the value of your presence,
as I have done these past many years.
I called out your name
but my words were naked,
lost and scattered to a cold wind,
as if now an empty voice, wishful,
in the stillness of your garden.

Mi amor, mia domina, joyeuse Santa Catarina:
I thought I saw you dancing
among a field of ripe berries,
the vines heavy with the yield,
unaware of your playful laughter,
as once I was when we were children.
A time when the world was distant
before I left behind the safe haven
of our friendship to the allure of a lion
bridge. But my life grew naked,
lost and scattered in a cold wind,
far from the stillness of your garden.

Mi amor, mia domina, chanteuse Santa Catarina:
I hoped to hear you singing again of the freedom,
we used to find on Geneva Street,
when everything was untouched by ego.
Where they championed civil rights
more profoundly than we did riches.
When long hair, loving, blossoms, hootenannies,
explained the culture of a generation,
a golden innocence easily naked,
lost and scattered by a cold wind,
far from the stillness of your garden.
Yet, mi amor, mia domina, bella Santa Catarina,
you have never changed.

Source: The author, 2025