Saturday, July 1, 2017




She was the summer
Lithe she came
dispensing beads of sweat
on young cheeks.
Barefoot she was running
on beaches and fields,
she filled the wineskins
with water and the yards with voices.
The bustling glowworms
she gave to the night
to adorn the hedges
with joyful clips.
She was the summer!

Wings of ink
Glossy pages
they wink by the shop windows,
wrinkled pages
smile at
the lonely hearts,
illustrated pages
adventures and knowledge.
Wings of ink
routes of knowledge,
flight routes,
that with tender touch
cradle a dream.
I devoured
kilometers of lines
without taking a step.
Here I am.
I landed!
The time of an airport change
and I'll leave for new runways,
I will do the check in
to my astonishment
I will recognize
others  flights addicted
and I will never be sated!


At a meeting of fairy godmothers
Saucy and unshy
are the daisies
with which
my mischievous pupil pays homage to me…
Imposing was the sunflower
that I picked up as a diurnal lighthouse,
to turn on the gaze
of a sad little girl.
I brought immaculate lilies
on the grave of my grandmother
and colorful gerberas
I received the day of my wedding promise.
Red roses
had sent me an admirer.
red anthuriums
gave joy to my degree.
The cuttings of geranium
taught me the strength
and I learned humility
from the “beautiful of night”.
They ran here hydrangeas
gentians, azaleas and lilies
in fraternal communion
the day that a flower
blossomed in a cradle.
They ran here as if they were coming
at a meeting of fairy godmothers
bestowing good wishes
in order that he could grow
florid and strong...
I put compost of encounters
to his hedge,
I escorted his stem
with silent prayers
so that he could be hidden
to the shears of bad luck.


A false theorem
They are concentric circles
the true friends;
let's call "bread the bread"
and not sell for friendship
the metastasis of something else.
You were not parallel lines,
they can reflect
each other
and they are able to tend to infinity
for the dormant meeting.
You were maybe two  squared catheters
that give as result the hypotenuse
and its shadow.
And she thought
about perpendicular lines...
about honest crosses
to share with you for years.
And she tried
to see you again
in the chaste embraces
of right angles,
in the IP greek
of a circle.
What remains to her
of a false theorem?
Broken diagonals,
acute angles of suffering,
obtuse angles of dementia.


This is not a farewell
One day wings sprouted upon you
and you cautiously flew over mountains and valleys.
Now you have a little light on the front
to illuminate dark caves and gorges.
Soon you will have a transparent touch
To heat to your loved ones’ heart and mind.
This is not a farewell
You ‘ll come back.
You ‘ll be the leaf that becomes humus
to feed the roots.
You ‘ll be the drop that becomes steam
and condenses elsewhere.
You ‘ll be the nightingale
that will brighten other people’s old age.
You ‘ll be a run step in the infinite,
the compass of courage for the meeting agreed.


At the biro
Ode to you
eaten biro,
ode to you
voice of the timid
and mizzen of love.
Ode to you
forerunner of cartridges and toner.
Ode to you
that put away from the window
the nib and the inkwell.
Ode to your colored transparencies
metallic moods.
Ode to you
catharsis of lost souls!
Ode to you
that bleed gall
if a betrayed woman
writes for you.
I will praise you forever
oh flowing ink
because obstinately
you shy away
the ticking
of the keyboard.


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