Piero is a kettle of popping corn brimming over delicious with butter and a sprinkle of cayenne. Alla salute!
Piero is the pop of the champagne cork, a double dip of spicy mustard, and the apple of Maria Grazia’s eye. Mia carissima sorellina!
Piero is silky and mysterious, born under a crescent strawberry moon. A Thursday’s child and still has far to go. He is all handsome with hair raven’s wing black. So quick with a wink and whistle to the parade of ingénue. Che un civettuolo!
Piero of stage is air guitar and drum, rowdy and ready to dazzle. He is all fluff and fuss. All gentle and sweet with i bambini.
But all that nimble and quick becomes somber and brilliant in song. He is all honey and heart. A dolphin wheeling a wave the sea: Vive libera; Sii libera
The Piero of song is at once tenderness, blessedness and poise. His voice swells as the choral of a great song bird soaring up the canyon filling the walls well enough to reach the Aeolian Islands off the shores of his beloved Sicily. He is the zephyr wind, the messenger from another age, the beauty of the Great Song born from the dust where the goddess once did play. Don’t they pause when they hear him ring out Non Puede Ser.
He is old; he is new. He is love. He is true. Adoro te! Il mio piccioncino!
LuceStellare 