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The taste of persimmon, which is not heard,

Which is not seen, but reimagined by the tongue –

The spicy soul swirls, pushing autumnal spleen away

From the beholder’s eye.

This is the scene with which my Garda Elegy begins –

The characters are ripe and ready for decline,

Soft and defenceless in the face of their own


And of the world’s dégringolade.

Not an instant! But a continuity of stillness,

Here, at the ‘place of guard’, I’m moving outside of history –

A curious effect – the kaki fruit are breathless,

But clear contours quake and lose their significance,

The amber balls like candles in the church,

They ask the passer-by about happiness,

About love, who are we, where are we from and why?

What can I say? I don’ t have answers.

If I could live this life again,

I’d choose to be this kaki tree,

Which is not heard, which is not seen,

A silent question

Enough to not be unanswered,

Enough to push autumnal spleen away

From the beholder’s dull December.


*Dedicated to kaki Salvaguardia Area Lago e Paolo Domenico


kaki Salvaguardia Area Lago e Paolo Domenico