Struggimento and Euthymia

 

 

I may find again

The promise and the calm

We once thought

As a stormy story

 

It was  an old story

Yet poetry and ordinary

And lonesome walks

In smoky train stations

 

And, like after an August rain

Waves left the mossy rocks

And the beach dried in the sun

Still touching the bluest sea

 

And I found, in that respite,

The promise to walk on unmoon nights

Without leaving shadows behind

And it became my road

 

My way

 

September 8, 2024