Manarola

Manarola

One evening before the gulls
flew to bed we saw a boat
hanging from the sky.
A giant crane snatched it
from the tiny harbor
and cranked it to the street
that drapes over the hill.
With no cars in town,
the fishing boats parallel
park in front of the shops.
Houses rise like a wall
of colored blocks.
Alleys and stairways thread
the town, fissures in bedrock.
Above it all, vineyards grip
the sky to catch the first
and last sun of the day.