Breath and StoneThe year is ours to weave a song,
except for summer, season of silence,
wordless time, restless
as a wave against the shore.
A wave, grandma, that comes and goes
and never sleeps, but spills its pain
in a language all its own:
but tell me, grandma, does the earth speak?
or do they share an ancient tongue,
like you and I, breath and stone?
(Translated by Anthony Molino)