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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 squat musculature
Beneath your bark shirt,
How full of life you are, my dear birch!
Your hands are widely spaced,
Make different shapes
On the invisible wind piano,
Your fingers flap and knock
In an incredible staccato.
Why are they always cold
In spite of sunshine?
In thunderstorm
Your weight shifts one way
And your head tilts to another,
An angle is established between the upper
And the lower body
As though a music note on a partitura.
Your artistry to sing at any time
Makes me astonished:
When you are in the spring fever,
Or under spasms of rain,
Or even dying
You keep your song…
In choirs, tandems, solo or ensemble…
The physicality of love of mine for you
Is what makes life so urgent
I lose myself inside you,
The minutes of the day warp
Into a delicious second life.

Painting “Sinfonia della primavera seconda”, 29×21, fat pastel, Sara Maino 2022