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***
I simply let the pen fall,
I never memorise how long it lasted,
Kilometres and watts of slow
Waltz,
Out of which the sun rises.
Each morning you escape at six
With pens and charcoal
To shape the silence.
On other days, you walk for miles
the Dolomite Alp mountains.
You say: “Literatura has a form,
Why not a marriage?”
You can’t without speed, trees, nights,
Malaise,
Things that aren’t seen,
Words that do move,
Drinks that destroy,
You learn what you are able for
and what you can’t
By caressing me – a blank canvas.
I simply let the pen fall,
To never memorise how long it lasted,
Kilometres and watts of long
Love,
Out of which the green rises.
(Painting “Billows, Marosi. Quando la skala era alta” by Sara Maino, 2021)