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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 Sara Maino!
Let the flowers run wild,
Purposelessly among the trees,
They’ll wall us in a green room,
My tree whisperer,
Centuries of God,
They’ll smell us with the leaves,
They’ll sing us their silent verse,
An olive light will shine
Between your eyebrows,
Between the pine legs
The sea will splash,
The mountains will rise,
The petrified remains
Of a mollusk I’ll spot,
An aqua creature smiling
From beneath marine rocks,
Where life thrives
without even one sunray.
Her smile is wild and for always.