DAYS IN WHITE These days, I get up with birches, and forehead restart interlock the strands of wheat, in front of a mirror of ice. Amalgamated to my breath, sfiocca milk: so early, has easy foam. And where the glass I fogged with breath, seems painted by a child finger, yet your name: innocence! After a long time. These days, …

WHAT I WANT FOR THE ADVENT GIVE YOU An organ sound antidote to the gloomy morning, my breath against the cold wind of the day, snowflakes as a promise of stars at night and a light to the path of those who had given up for lost, Angel, who in the middle of the night announces the rebirth of love. …

AGAINTS TIME The event stands clear of history. Originality is not in ranks of trees, but in this tree; and every fruit is the first fruit, shapely and absolute. Events afe individuaI as pain. This dar, this trouble, fingering rain, has never been. Beauty comes clean, in the cock’s rusty vowels or in sky-searching towers, that lift themselves light as …

The oldest objects tell the story of a human presence that began around 50,000. C., but those finds were added expressions of Mycenaean culture, the Roman presence and that – centuries – the Venetian Republic. When you’re in Argostoli (the capital of the island), also you will remain fascinated by its bay and the narrow streets of the city. To …

WITH ALTERNATE KEY With alternate key, you schiudi the house where the snow whirls of things left unsaid. Depending on the blood that oozes from eye, mouth and ear, varying your key. Vary your key, you change the word which is granted twirl slap. Depending on the wind that pushes you away, it coagulates around the word, the snow. (Paul …

THE DISAPPEARED The disappeared as the earth swallowed them up, was the air? As the shores of the sea innumerable; however, lay not in the arena, but in anything, ranks forgotten. And often hand to hand, as the minutes of us closer together, but no memory, not registered, not decipherable in the dust but disappeared, their names, the spoons, the …

CHERRIES When love on stilts, teases the gravel paths, and up to the trees arrive, I’d love to recognize I cherries as cherries, not shorter arms, using stairs which always missing some peg, live cascaticcia fruit, stewed fruit . Sweet and sweeter, almost black; blackbirds make dreams so red. Who gives kisses and who, when the love on stilts, to …