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child poem

che probabilità spiteful ruba i unawares
malinconia, azzurro era
fra il fumo e nebbia di un pomeriggio di dicembre
ha sentito i bambini giocare al sole
il bambino che ha gettato via il foglio dopo il foglio
sopra loro tutte, osservando giù
rumori che si sforzano strapparsi
amo la mia ora di vento e di luce
ci è una città, builded da nessuna mano
i nostri momenti piacevoli volano

 



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