Dialect Poetry of Southern Italy (Italian Poetry in Translation Book 2)

A Point of Light

Friend blackbirds
in this misty winter
when hardly a bit of light
is seen, like low
arrows that have passed
above the dead
soaked leaves,
from one tree to the other
in the deserted lane,
entangled in who knows what
activities or seeking
secret companionship;
today the wren
that sends me its thin sweet tones
from a leafless tree
sounds friendlier.
I search for it, raising my eyes
high, then higher still,
and when I think I’ve found it
I notice that a tiny
dry leaf
deceived me.