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 as a physical memory,
Rather than a recollection of detail,
The form that comes into being,
The rudiments of a symphony.
There was Mussorgsky, Grieg, Sibelius,
Wolfgang, Ludwig and Igor Fedorovich,
How all melted together
Just in one word – ‘Buonasera’.
Drawing ‘La Sobria’, Sara Maino 2022