There's a window in the nightwith two dark shapes asleep
dun as birds
whose bodies draw back against the sky.
I write with patience
to the eternity I don't believe in.
Slowness comes to me from silence
and from a freedom - invisible -
which the mainland's unaware of
the islands of a thought which spurs me
to rein in time
to give it space
inventing the desert for that language.
The word splits like wood
like a piece of wood cracked on one side
part the effect of fire
part of neglect.
from 'Sistemi Emotivi - artisti contemporanei tra emozione e ragione'.
Palazzo Strozzina, Firenze
