Walking the streets of Rome alone,
Solitude can be nice,
the smells, sights, in clearer focus.

A small cart with Nirvana,
Fresh, flat bread steaming,
A little sauce, a little cheese,
Perfection in a bite.

The next day, same place,
But Nirvana had moved on,
Gelato beckons but perfection will forever be,
Flat, steaming bread.