(Cont.d)When I am dead, come see me in Schisò
and on a night like this, in August,
or when the sun is highest in the sky
to listen to the sound of seashell
in the heat of noon.
And gather all the fish
swimming in the sea to tell them
between a laughter and another, the story
of that fool lover who each night upon the beach
in Schisò, embracing you, my blue Agatha,
counted stars and woes, woes and stars.
And lamps meanwhile uncover hiding tuna.
(Translated by Gaetano Cipolla)