We have found
In the depths of the sea
A cave and in there the traces
Of the history of the first dagger.
Step by step are the narratives
The hand of a child in the hand of an adult
What you feel in passing
From your own support to the light that guides you.
The bravery of an idea
The power to discard everything
And the power to grasp something
And decide without loss or shackle.
Stroke by stroke
Melody, rhythm and harmony
In the oldest Kansascottage
The homestead in the middle of the field.
Unconquerable legions against a few
Like a splendid athlete among cripples
Opposing the cripple who inspires his companions
Sons of same God who assesses them.
The control of anger
The domination of thirst
The instant preceding madness
The remorse prior to confession.
Dreaming of shapes
Sculptures of gratitude to Freud
Real situations like games
Such as wars and things that are written.
Etruria for ever
Abdera among the weak
The village and the iron pot
The faithful dog awaiting the return at the porch.
Some murmurs of tragedies – maybe they are mine –
And the future already arriving tomorrow
The beauty, the light and order
What should be said when nobody has anything to say.