Poetry

*** There is no oil, No varnish, No easel, No trace of linear perspective. There is no sketching, No sponges, No preparation. There is no, no, no - There is…

*** May this distance lead you to yourself, I cross the tram rails to reach the beach, Wary of paper airplanes on my way, When you look up, how far…

*** The paints began to tremble, A mountain loomed from the canvas, With flames burning the white linen, Dragonflies - pink and amber - - covered the shores of the…

To my grandma, Iskra (a sparkle), who taught me to shine brightly, to take every day as the first one. And a buona nascita to my new sparkle - dear…

This is a tale of two in a museum. This is a tale of a museum full of secrets. This is a tale of secrets between two lands. One -…

*** You know what I miss? You Painting, When you take out The inner sounds, Major and minor, When your fingers Come weightless, As feathers or as Stravinsky’s, When you…

In the end, there is always a lake. This time surrounded by curves of mountains, Their elegance embody an image of your sunlit dark-hair - Such are the noons here,…

*** Here is a kiss, So long and so shivering, With a taste of a dewdrop, Too fragile, too tender. An atom of that dizzying intensity, I fold it with…

*** Going from top to bottom Or feeling the world from left to right: Flatlands are never purely horizontal, Mountains often give up Their vertical nature, When seen from above……