What are

four stars in the sky,

blinking

like crickets’ chirping?

 

And sparrows and old hags,

noise ofdung,

bawling and shushing?

 

Forever!

Do you know what it means?

 

The noise of a plate

and four forks.

Munching a pear.

Talking casually

of a thread of light

of a stove

with a singie burner.

 

There are moments

I cannot contain

the folly of my heart,

feellng the eye of God,

a tremendous palpitation,

infinite.

 

Scattered poppies,

words,

television, ironing,

whom must we honor

at Christmas.

 

Lights that waver

for unknown roads

peevish and tired

matter

and eyes of frigid grace.

l’d have loved your tongue

until you thought

that causing you pain

is a wedding gift

and a farewell.

 

Something new, perhaps,

and shoes needing repairs

heels replaced

trousers of don’t-know-what cloth,

games of scopone…

 

And the hell that burns,

but is warm and cozy

to real men.

 

Flesh that trembles

under lips and hands.

 

Were I the supreme

Master of beauty

l’d have created you so

just as I feel you now

close by.

 

Then, blasted

a cloud blacker and heavier

then night,

I’d have shattered the evening

with fire and thunders

of rage.

 

01-12-2011