The tiles in the kitchen were buckled black and crazed white
and they gave oddly soft under my knees
when I tried to scrub the tub or bathe the dog
or when, my hands down also on the tiles,
I begged, and begged him not to leave me,
as he did.
“Dammi la mano in pegno” says the Commendatore
to Don Giovanni, “give me your hand as a promise,”
and then he takes him into the cavern of flame.
“No!” shouts Giovanni, as the fire answers, “Sì.”