poetry lines
It was not the night wind that came, was the early morning one unexpectedly warm and fast, which blew quickly, merciless of the last brown-yellow leaves
.2020
It was not the night wind that came, was the early morning one
unexpectedly warm and fast, which blew quickly, merciless
of the last brown-yellow leaves
they fall, I fall after them in the wake of a poetry line
that was consuming my days with no recall of words
just an unnerving steady presence of something to say
it was not the night wind that came, was the early morning one
I did not wake to it, I dreamt into it and sweated and anguished
The eyes open, the morning light grey and heavy,
exploited by the unsaid the poetry line dried
There is this me laying on the bed, the cat nearby
the glasses yet to be wear the world unfocused
navigating trough the sadness of yesterday and
shuttered by the unhappiness of today
the chest breath slowly, unsuddenly
a break, a stop, an hiccup of air
made still by the unfinished, the yet-to-come