Windy morning outside
Inside the silence is even more sonorous
in the margins a few words detached from vague sentences not pronounceable
clarity, draft
draft clarity
Moths joining the empty shell of the morning
precious empty shell where you can hear the night setting
useful shell in another world.

When we stop the reflections starts again
multiplied
abolishing the step and the path taken.

Rare and short respites taken for walks
vague weightless exercises.
Until the long holidays which require total rest
an immobile elsewhere.

City bells ring elsewhere
in yesterday and tomorrow
capsize in the body
hitting the fog and noises
The outside would be barely acceptable
if it weren’t for the wind that pushes into the cave.

The smell of rain lifts the veil
the torrent, the wind, the man above like a tragic farce
clutter
silence itself finding no place there.

Then the paths came numerous
all with narrow, tiny edges
of stringy and infinite duration
on them we could see the heads of the scouts
very distant because they were extraordinarily grotesque.