by Alex Valente

Original Italian by Rosita Copioli (1948-), ‘Beltà’

Look, everything returns, even the markings on the wall
and behind the bushes the eyes of our heavens
without a reason to be tend towards a return,
they return not to forget, how much each
and every one finds their own pleasure – adspice:
even though to me: because the evening turns,
and the year ferments at home, and they line up all
the youth to leave for the streets, and they leave all
for their love: some look at each other, some, out
of the darkness, find each other in light and the eyes
focus on the heart of the light: the silence
that shines from the light, the listening.
Some don’t realise that there is no peace,
and that they burn without end, each to their own.
So, after having seen each their own light,
they burn their folly in the shadow, and is able,
in the glow, like a vine in bloom again.
As we speak the silence turns to dusk
et sol crescentes descendens duplicat umbras:
and yet it burns and it beckons
a season not yet born, the season that cannot
turn or return, the step without measure,
of years without years, and the evergreen,
everlasting plants, who as the time consumes
its turgid lymph, throw themselves to the thriving
burning love.

Featured image: Rosita Copoli © Romagna Gazzette 

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