my happiness ends here / on a Sunday’s evening
after the cross atop the church’s steeple becomes cooler
after this bright red sunset
there will be no more painless/ careless/ fearless moments
the asphalt is empty and dull for my soles/ its echoes are lost
no better things to do than strolling these streets/ almost losing ground
then staring at people right into the whole/ the full of them
without any thought on my mind

only the shadow of my elbow is touched by other shadows
en passant
silhouette after silhouette
Modigliani’s women/ Brâncuşi’s magic birds
la dolce morte della luce

everything flows into thoughts/ thoughts into other thoughts
even Charon’s boat disappears
and right now my lips paralyzed to prevent me from proving the truth