by Alex Valente

Original Italian by Maria Luisa Vezzali (1964 – ), ‘del mondo’

you lower your head to cross the doorway and beyond the threshold the world breathes
with vision, a restless wave that carries the smell of houses, damp,
rust, ashes, petrol, ages that vortex towards dusk
eyes fly over heads bent on tables, hands on phones
the mid-morning break in a café, the singing cold, skin
reflecting the absence of a gesture
clots of light that revert to things of light in a meek underground

Featured image © Facebook / Maria Luisa Vezzali

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