Photo by JB, 2009
This life gave me your eyes so clear, light
during my winter days, a concretion
of cold, sadness and silence
that you win, that you suddenly won when we met us
Yes, the life gave me your lovely eyes
full of beauty like the linden smile
when it scatters its scent and the sweetness
in the warm ride to the next solstice
The life gave me as present your eyes
and your lips and your hands and your skin
that I touch and a shiver moves me
while my soul moans and quivers and ripples
This life gave me your eyes, nowadays
tired yet again stretched forward
beyond me and the world, to the horizon
of each gesture so thrown even further
June, 19th 2017
You introduce me to the sun today
when the summer is falling into autumn
and the night wins again on the day
and my face grows old while I watch you
You reflect the sun also today.
The equinox just went down and the mist
demurely dresses brown dry old twigs
that already sleep dreaming for leaves
You were sun and it was autumn day
in the strange old age owned by Rome;
we were young and my being across
the time was quite without any reason
You direct my gaze towards the sun
even if the time hurts also you
and my anger denies all the light.
In your eyes I see marks of splendour
September, 23rd 2016
Photo by J.B., 2016
The air is lighter and invades me so deeply
into my chest and into my mind
to enrapture my grey perverse soul
beyond me and this weighty world's weird
The air is lighter and tempts me and my body
so I climb quickly to find my peace place.
In the refuge I mix and confuse
dreams and memories and silence
Mezzalama Shelter, August, 19th 2016
Thank you to my sister LedaEuropa for her suggestions!
My big evil grows hard alike maize
suddenly and so fills all my field
during the dry and warm summer times.
All my grass raves about damp soft soil
Ghosts of flowers and desert white lights,
empty ambitions of upset dreams, chords,
leave as sediment blankets of sleep.
Every day now turns into straw tones
June, 22th 2016
Near to fall
my short life
poor my faith
warm these days
to the grey
July, 18th 2015
The Italian version is here
The deafening cicada noise booms
the heat that I avoid going into
the exedra, under wisteria shadows.
The life that I escape dries me
Paranoia I see into myself:
I shun any chance to not be lost.
In the air scorched powder dries up
anywhere becomes torrid in the world
July, 1st 2015
That day, after almost seven hours, in my car, back to home
go here for the Italian verson
A lot of kilometers up toward the sky; the pic shows some of my better august 2014 trips.
I like my legs when they work well. Above all I like mountains.