Annabelle Moseley

The food I ate in Italy deserves a litany of praise.
An art unto itself, it satisfied so deeply
I expected to rise each morning cured of hunger—
forgetting hunger, like longing, is a ritual. … Continue readingLitany in Praise of Italian Cuisine

Drive as a passenger through Tuscany,
and even if you squint
or fall asleep, but catch brief glances
through curtained blinks, … Continue readingThe Tuscan Countryside

In the Venetian Accademia,
I stood quietly
before a study of flowers—
their bends and curls precise,
examined. … Continue readingDa Vinci’s Drawing