This
that shimmers in the night cap of my thinking, track
pearly snail
or grinding of crushed glass, light
is not a church or food shop that
cleric red or black. I can only
quest'iride
leave a testimony of faith that was fought,
of hope that burned slower
of hard log in the fireplace.
Please keep the powder in the mirror when switched off every light
the sardana
and hell will come upon a shady Lucifer
a bow of the Thames, the Hudson, the Seine
shaking the wings of bitumen
semi-severed by fatigue, to tell you: it's time.
is not an inheritance, a lucky
that can withstand impact of monsoon on the edge of the spider
memory
but a story that does not last in the ash
and persistence is the only species. Just
was a sign: Who identified
can not fail to find you.
Everyone recognizes her: pride
was not escape, humility was not
cowardly, the faint glow rubbed
there was not a match.
(from "The storm and other)
My Montale, and I reread it the next meeting in every season of our present. Reborn from the ashes of history are always new and oppression sorely tested the faith in life and especially the effort to safeguard from all its insidious assault "everyday decency," or to the risk of appearing defeatist cowards. But a poet has his fire, and then the hour can look with different eyes. The proud little track that shimmers like hope in his word: he entrusts it to his "faithful" as a trademark, symbolon, because wherever they can find. The
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