After the moon was immediately set
I took you in my arms, dead *
A little Christ
to whom I bow
not crucified but sweetly abandoned
disenchanted
*
I struggle, on the edge of the road to think of you lifeless.
It’s not possible, who invented this lie? *
Like a lake in the memory
our meetings
like just a shadow your sharp face
your voice is a harp and the hands play tambourines
*
Rocco died
foreign land, you wrapped it badly your sheets are without embroidery
You had to do it, the lace of kindness!
*
Rocco dressed in pearl
like the gray hills near your town show me the way that leads
I don’t know where *
new year
arrivals
tenderly
obsequious.

(1953, by Amelia Rosselli)

Read by Nicole

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