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love poetry

bello
perchè allora, il mosto noi vede?
ciò è l'arsenale
che cosa noi ora farà
dalla finestra un mare degli alberi verdi
rumori che si sforzano strapparsi
agito i miei capelli nel vento della mattina
dicami più di meno o dicami di più
le preghiere bianche piccole
a che cosa una donna la paragonerà cara
un cielo che non ha conosciuto mai il sole, la luna o le stelle
ancora il suo gray oscilla la torretta sopra il mare

 



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