di “Desistenze”
opera di una cara amica, Rita Loprete
docente  e traduttrice in diverse lingue

ABOUT LIVES
                          
He has the body, but he hasn’t yet
when he extends in endless things
and says: I am to you
to love your thought
as I can’t hold the river
as I don’t want to oppose its rapids
and still I ignore its reasons
but I wish to heal
your ancient wounds

He has no body, but he has yet
when he fits all the ended things
and says: You are to me
a weaver of breath
as you can’t think of me lifeless
as you don’t want the time me condemn
and still I ignore its reasons
but I wish you healed
my ancient wounds

I am to you, for the autumn’s days
when you were born, near and far
and as I know I’ll go away alone
_despite this river which merges us_
and you can’t stand

You are to me, for the winter’s days
when you were born, near and far
and as I know I’ll go away alone
_despite this river which merges us_
and I couldn’t stay

When you won’t be here
perhaps I’ll know the time is the winner
over short distances
and that there are no bodies to join

When I won’t be here
perhaps you’ll know the time is convention
the distance is dream
and not the bodies to fall in love