Duomo di Milano, I wish you were more than everything...

Sure, you’re pretty,
but too much for me.
You suffocate with puzzles of grand intricacy.
You see, perpendicular lines, aesthetic, long -
please and arouse when one comprehends form.
Yet you are all styles; flamboyant and loud.
Supremely imposing and not logically sound.

Oh, Madonnina, how to love you I wish!
So why put yourself on the spire of kitsch?
So why prevent ascension to our first gothic kiss?
— P. Kalachev

Milan, first impression

The sun here is softer, more foregiving, warmer. The buildings with their Umbrian roofs have withstood a presumed harshness of centuries past and maybe the two parties have decided to make peace with one another’s existence. Birds fly through the diffused air and leave their jet-streams of songs. Down an alley a singular voice of a woman in her late 50’s is echoed down pliable yellow plaster walls. She is passionate but not angry; I guess typical Milanese fervor. Everything here seems to fit - mostly the irregular cobblestones that don’t fit within their own jig-saw at all. It is evening now, and humid. I wonder if the young ladies drink their espressos this close to sunset.
— P. Kalachev