The path of flowers is fading
quietly across the parched countryside
where you are between the olive groves and the sun
you are unfindable when I follow you.
You smile with the most beautiful mouth
and I wake up on this destiny
the most hurting absence returns.
Now I imagining you and words vanish
in a land which is not yours, which has never been mine,
although we are that land every day more.
Out of season, the path of flowers sprinkles the edge of the street
and from the borders it repeats
the fluid moods of our silences.
I see you - the flowers say. You are here. Always.
Between the olive tree and the myrtle of my garden.
Translation by Pietro Federico