In these years I have been born many times.
At least three figures have cast their colors
on each other. They are not primary anymore
and they are fading.
The others tell of my first me:
I used to bump my head against the bars of my bed.
Whoever passed by along the years exited the glass
to mix with the clouds.
The second me used to cry
without that child or that strength.
I used to listen to Debussy even then
an d my roof used to have the brand new
corners of reason.
I have recently celebrated my third me.
I had her recorded in the civil registry very late
and I found out that being born
can only means finding.
I let myself think that only the sum of them
is important but, if you really want
to count, don get it wrong:
the sum is by subtraction.
I don’t love either loud noises
or the ceremonial emptiness.
Who knows exactly the times
I will get back out to
collect leaves from the ground,
but this is for sure: my leaves, I have bound them well.
Translation by Pietro Federico