When We First Arrived in Toronto

parts of Italy were intact,
like ways of looking at the snow.
it was in the eyes, the Tuscan light,
the way it made the snow explode,

and wood, and iron railings and soot;

it was in the eyes, and through the spirit,
and spirit loved the world and was not
alien to it

and so the festive was a box of chocolates
or any homely thing
in the
world, for nothing could resist
the song of a boy’s heart . . . 
Published in TOK: Writing the New Toronto, Book 1. Purchase the book to read the full piece.