la mia testa è il mio rifugio
Stride picchettando l’arco sulla corda
ché il mondo è ormai lontano.
La sua voce nasce dalle ceneri del silenzio,
cresce,
s’alza.
Canta volteggiando l’arco sulla corda
ché il mondo è ormai lontano.
La sua voce nasce dalle ceneri del mondo,
cresce,
s’alza,
cala,
muore come il giorno
e poi nuovo silenzio intorno.
Published in Ebbro and Poeticherie
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