Almost Stromboli

Too often now I want to skin myself.

This condition, you know,

It's the jag, maybe,

Or immunities gone south.

Yet not today.

Perhaps it is the warmth,

The sea-air or the calm.

There's plenty of they here,

Where aliscafi, one by one,

Pull into piers that bring

Each summer's maddening

If so necessary hordes.

But this is winter's sun

Shaping the shimmer

And first defining Panarea

Then Stromboli beyond,

Emollients In view but timed-

and distanced-out just now

By my day-tripped if

Stress-free turn-abouts.