It is not that the world is safer – wars ravage
as usual. Children die unnoticed in our sleep.
Along the same fragrant roads, between the
olive groves and that gilded sea where we
first embraced, women are herded to slaughter.
It is not that the sky shelters us from loss
or betrayal or prophecies of storm. It is not
that the days are longer or that the stars
can pierce the sulphurous city night. It is not
that our lives are easy – our best work is
Thwarted, our language scarred. It is not
that comforts make comfortable or that
love endures or that any of us will escape
our fate – these tracks of iron laid on
sleepers – run in one direction only.
It is not the moments of epiphany –
The unlooked for transfigurations of
the earthly. Such as on a frozen field
where we stopped to kiss – emerging
from a snow bound wood, a herd of
deer suddenly,their antlers blown like
drift wood across a whitened lake.
It is not that the world has grown
Better – beyond the perimeter wire,
you also hear the cries that fret the
edge of reason.. It is only this: that
you kept vigil with me here, on this
station platform,waiting for change
or for light.That hour after hour, you
stared into the blizzard mouth
It is not that the world is safer yet,
in darkness, you fall asleep at my side,
and when you wake, the day opens with you;
startled, mercurial like a first morning.
Making breakfast or love.
Quick to laughter, to argument and surprise.
It is not that the world is safer. Only this –
that I love your laughter.
da ”Like Joy in Season, Like Sorrow”
HERE the Italian version