A tender gust
slide on our faces
in this kind of Fall
We try to stay
while he whispers
– old stories glide through the air –
down the hill,
rustle of leaves,
and something yellow still remains.

 (4th December, 2017)



Hymn to the Swift


To pure hearts

who lie down on purple fields

of conscious memory

To the brave Seagull

who was able to challenge

the deepest oblivion and the untamable waves

From the Abandoned Lands, through vibrant sky,

a Swift glides upon us with no judgements

as a gentle breeze embraces our lives

Their refuge perhaps a beam of your light

something inside blue cannot ever die.

 (29th December, 2017; 11:13)



Cold in July


Sweetly vacant

at night

like a cup of tea

by your dirty tights.



Le immagini:
(I) Sunset di Roberta Montemurro
(II) Another Place di Antony Gormley
(III) We can’t wait to see your back di Christine Wu