(cont.d)So many years have come and gone, today
the wind is a good friend outside my door.
He listens when I speak, and takes me away
gently, like a corpse; he doesn’t harm me any more.
It’s the old wind that sweeps across my town.
It’s still the wind that sweeps across my town.
It’s the wind, the wind, the wind,
yellowing wind of my hometown.
Albany, October 9, 1985
(Translated by Luigi Bonaffini)