From A Train
The tracks between Bologna and Ljubljana
talk about what grass keeps silently for centuries.
Flat, sleepy landscape
and tranquil trees soak the river.
In meeting of Slavic and Latin language
misunderstandings are replaced
by facial expressions.
In the late afternoon corn panicle bursts,
in the town behind the bricks, protecting
normal life, a woman is making a bread.
The school holidays period
and sighing on the beaches ...
Like others in the compartment I am the alchemy
of ancestors and present,
focused between actual and potential.
Have the years brought goals,
did I pay my own mistakes?
How far is the next station?
Which faces will join me?
Will I have to use an alarm and skip
to a faster train?
We are always in a new place of wishes,
our plans will never achieve
the perfection of rose that blossoms only in dual.
Even when the train is standing, we are only nomads.
We are waiting for the sun doors to be pushed
and through them shines someone
who knows whence we come from.