Wind driven, the voice is at a crossroads:
flushed from their nests in the dark delta
between the two roads
suddenly words flutter up.
In small flocks they shuttle
from one edge of silence to the other
carving secret paths out of the air.
If their hanging trails burn
like lashes
on the glaring background waiting
sometimes they etch there
a shadow map:
a jagged grid of scars
for your eyes to follow
in order to feel in your throat
the ghost of the last gust…
from Bivio Di Voce: Poesie Italiane e Inglesi 1982-86 [Voice at a crossroads – Italian and English Poems] (Empiria Editions, 1987)
Poem selected by Emilia Mirazchiyska, series’ editor
