Silvia Accorrà



Pesce di terra
Lietocollelibri, 1995

It is not all
Not all limits do conclude
I know from grimaces in the sun
From windows on fire Late afternoon
I can see bare trees
This shattered nakedness
A man and a woman his wife
Ordinary habit
I know
We get used to the worst
So often extraordinary

It is not all
Evening is not the latest end
Of any common day:
it is the day after and night is a corruption - it is
something pulling along
a sheet burdened with glasses.