When the beloved faces
lose the traits and the rooms will
without music or in the ashes of the attic
leather bags filled with crumpled newspaper
,
the two hats of wool, a
old fir artificial.
that even we in this life we \u200b\u200bloved
corners
other night and just before waking.
Even we,
the same distance. Fold in two
aligning the edges
between the thumb and forefinger
and a step against the other,
in two, four, eight.
from John Catalano Poetarum Silva, an anthology of prose and poetry
by Enzo Fields.
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