Saturday, February 12, 2011


"Vediamo, ancora un'altra volta," lui mi diceva. Each time a renewed solitude, all these returns summer after summer and impossible golondrinas flying around mid-morning.
Un deseo de Gardel y sus tangos y Mariana y sus dedos en el acordeón: 'la fisarmonica,' diceva. E oggi il cello soprattutto zitto.

Altri estati.

Today, my shoes worn out, silently. The house not more than a mirage, layer over layer over years over my grandmother's sleepless nights and all the vast ocean they negotiated before arriving here.

If I sit still I'll fulfill my journey: and in time will become at home, again.