Ancient EyesThe echo of the song remains
(how stifling this sun is, this thirst
accompanying the songs of crickets)
the branches of the trees are hanging low.
Here, while my thoughts are fuming
I am a lamp that’s destined to go out.
I count my steps inside this white bedroom,
with hands in my pockets.
But I see you naked and free.
Silently
you went away. And you now purr
for one who holds you close and doesn’t know you.
If you laugh. Because you see perhaps
my face that’s holding back the tears.
(Translated by Gaetano Cipolla)