Giugno

Quando                                                                                                                   mi morirà                                                                                                               questa notte                                                                                                             e come un altro                                                                                                        potrò guardarla                                                                                                        e mi addormenterò                                                                                                  al fruscio                                                                                                                    delle onde                                                                                                             che finiscono                                                                                                          di avvoltolarsi                                                                                                         alla cinta di gaggie                                                                                            della mia casa

Quando mi risveglierò                                                                                         nel tuo corpo                                                                                                             che si modula                                                                                                    come la voce dell'usignolo

Si estenua                                                                                                           come il colore                                                                                       rilucente                                                                                                                 del grano maturo

Nella trasparenza                                                                          dell'acqua                                                                                                            l'oro velino                                                                                                            della tua pelle                                                                                                          si brinerà di moro

Librata                                                                                                                           dalle lastre                                                                           squillanti                                                                                                        dell'aria sarai                                                                                                          come una                                                                                                            pantera

Ai tagli mobili                                                                       dell'ombra                                                                                                                     ti sfoglierai

Ruggendo                                                                                                               muta in                                                                                                               quella polvere                                                                                                          mi soffocherai

Poi                                                                                                               socchiuderai le palpebre    

Vedremo il nostro amore reclinarsi                                                                    come la sera

Poi vedrò                                                                                                         rasserenato                                                                                               nell'orizzonte di bitume                                                                                     delle tue iridi morirmi                                                                                              le pupille

Ora                                                                                                                                     il sereno è chiuso                                                                                            come                                                                                                                          a quest'ora                                                                                                              nel mio paese d'Affrica                                                                                             i gelsumini

Ho perso il sonno

Oscillo                                                                                                                      al canto d'una strada                                                                                              come una lucciola                                                                                                   

Mi morirà                                                                                                             questa notte?