With an after-taste of a wave in your mouth
you say that today the sea is cold, maybe more than yesterday.
You leave footprints on the shore
like someone leaving crumbs in case it’s needed to backtrack the path.
There’s a glittering line of a drop going down the neck.
We’ve abandoned the beaches at the door.
We dedicate sleepless nights to the minutes of moonlight.
We’re to make a syntax among the hours;
we turn the silence into a good reason to listen.
And the course of your itinerary is so, so easy
that I’ve learnt, one by one, the names of those cypresses.
In case one day we’re far away from all this,
in case one day good fortune showers us,
we’ll keep doing what we’re doing at this moment.
The sound of the arms under water
says that it’s like a mantra of constant arithmetics
which doesn’t stop the time but, at times,
fills all the space in a fascinating way.
And the image of this instant is so, so placid:
one of parallel universes that will always meet.
In case one day we’re far away from all this,
in case one day good fortune smiles on us,
we’ll keep doing what we’re doing at this moment.
In case one day the wind gets stronger,
in case sometime we go out of the garden,
I promise you that we’ll live in this moment.
In case one day we’re far away from all this,
in case one day good fortune showers us,
we’ll keep doing what we’re doing at this moment.
In case one day the wind gets stronger,
in case sometime we go out of the garden,
I promise you that we’ll live in this moment.