Poetry

*** The brushwork of the Flemish fog, Sfumato, soft, The hovering of thought In depthlessness, The stillness of a voice Inside one’s head, Unwillingness of images To move, A feeling…

*** Flying around the world For millions of years, She appeared resting On the finely curved lip Of a limestone, When I saw her I thought of Nabokov! In the…

*** All the beauty, All the poetry meaning of stars Is that they are infinitely far From Earth, Remain a secret to us. They are lovingly cultivated For the sheer…

*** I had only my ear to guide me, Your voice fingerprints in the air, I remember the evening I heard it In the emptiness of a museum. Your voice…

*** At night, when people don’t part, In the beige house on the blue lake Surrounded by a number of rocky mountains, Between terra firma and watery nothingness, Not a living soul…

*** Your shadow climbs the mountain, And the wind sighs between your arms, Long corridors of arched shoulders Through which I eye the spire of a church, I sense the…

*** You taught me how to heat the stove, Admire fire, walk the mountains, Petrarca’s songs, To recognise the herbs, That even in the midst of human hell There is…

*** The room we stand in now Is full of desire, Of the desire in these Oversized almond eyes, Of the desire that leaves Watermarks of Nature - The great…

*** Who is my translator In this foreign world? Will I ever cross The thermal baths Of Bagno Vignoni With a burning candle Consecrated To love on Earth? Is it…