And the sea insists,
fishermen sift themselves for the new season
and the virgin combs her hair on the horizon,
summer, already mature, sits like an old woman
ready to take over,
in the meanwhile she dreams behind its fan
with the wheat-colored sky,
tears in a glass of wine ignite a song
louder than water,
each lets itself be broken to spread its blessing
in a wave that evolves into a dart,
it is the taste of the sunset that reminds the prickly pears
to squeeze the pain out of time
and make it forgiveness,
the heart to count the nostalgia that no prophecy
will be able to appease,
the parable of a destiny, where the shadows are extinguished,
that, between dahlias and the scent of must,
on tiptoe, like an autumn comma,
prepares, without fear, my birth to the world.
English Translation by Claudia Piccinno