Ghosts

The remains of my ghosts, as unsolved
connections, percolate deeply into the mind.
They disturb much more than this dark fog,
gift of incoherent, so strange winter

I long for waters of extinct rains
that I would drink as life of the meadows
or of oak, beech and ash trees in the forest
I, the birch undermined by the time

I am impatient stump, as a relic
that would rise yet it droops and it’s faint,
because little sap frozen in the stem
anymore instils turgor to the buds

 

December, 29th 2015

 

See here for the Italian version