poems by: Massimo Sannelli
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there is shy wind and wee, between
sound and soul –
because the wind is running,
going to oblivion.
1
where the different mother is, apart,
between her sons suffering the long
loneliness – here is the wound, to her,
to us the experience of a real light:
a lily. who am I? being afraid of
that people, to whom you
have done so much, and do now, and after –
there is shy wind and wee, between
sound and soul –
because the wind is running,
going to oblivion.
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2
birds are in the morning two
seraphim – no sound of rain is
heard, and rain subsided, passed –
no curtain no pillow no sound
competes with the little: they
are two, a quick action is
this, with quick departure –