(Cont.d)When I am dead, come see me in Schisò
on a night like this, in August,
to cry the tears of stars that fall
upon the waters chilled by a new brightness,
an expanding oil slick attacked by bees.
And lamps meanwhile uncover hiding tuna.
Only inside your blueish pupil are
the Pleiades a memory of sky.
When I am dead, come see me in Schisò
and on a night like this, in August,
let down your tresses underneath a branch
of eucalyptus,
and listen to our voice
which weaves a web of silence, stuck on the leaves,
dissolving in a breath of North east wind.
And lamps meanwhile uncover hiding tuna.