IX

The harbour is old I can’t wait any longer

neither for the friend who left for the island with the pines

nor for the friend who left for the island with the plane trees

nor for the friend who left for the open sea.

I caress the rusted cannons, I caress the oars

that my body will be reborn and decide.

The sails only give off the smell

of the salinity from another storm.

If I decided to remain alone, I seek

the solitude, not this kind of waiting,

nor the shattering of my soul on the horizon

nor these lines, these colours, this silence.

Stars of the night return me to the anticipation

of Odysseus for the dead among the asphodels.

When we moored over here among the asphodels

           we hoped to find

the glen that saw the wounded Adonis.

https://www.lulu.com/account/projects/ezvgyr https://www.amazon.com/dp/B096TTS37J

Suspicion

She looks at your direction

behind dark glasses

certain she stares at you

you feel

embarrassed for your fat belly

and your gray beard so you turn

your head the other way

as if to conceal your uncomfortableness

being stared at by such a pretty blond

and you miss paying attention

to her faint smile resembling Mona Lisa’s

indeed she was gazing at you

perhaps admiring your gray beard

or your straight posture

holding the handrail

of the Metro rumbling along

the dark underground tunnel

https://www.lulu.com/account/projects/y26q9n https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BKHW4B4S