by Alex Valente

Original Italian ‘Moriremo lontani’, by Cristina Campo (1923-1977)

We’ll die apart. It’ll be much
if I rest my cheek in our palm
for New Year’s; if in my own
you will trace another migration

We know very little
of the soul. Maybe it’ll drink from pools
of concave nights, stepless,
it’ll rest beneath flying crops
sprung from rocks…
O lord and brother! but maybe,
above a single crystal case
studious peoples will write,
of us, in a thousand winters:
«no ties held together these dead
in the deserted necropolis».

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