Il Cielo Capovolto

What will become of you and me,
what will become of us?
The edge of your dress,
a nail of your finger,
the moment you leave...
What will tomorrow bring, the day after tomorrow
and then forever?
My hand will tremble
passing it over my chest,
the sum of my years...

Who will you give your mouth, your breath,
the small wounds,
the eyes that celebrate,
the lingering music
that you won't sing?
And where will I look at night,
buried in the sea?
I will feel like dying
having to imagine
who you are...

Men are like the sea:
the upside-down blue
reflecting the sky;
they dream of sailing,
but it's not true.
Write to me from another love,
and for the tears
you'll have in your closed eyes,
look at me: I leave you a flower
of imaginary smiles.

What will become of you and me,
what will become of us?
I wish to be the shadow,
the shadow of the one who watches you
and falls asleep in you;
when I was little, I dreamt of a man
who took me away,
and on this narrow island
I dreamt of him so quickly
that he was already gone!

I would have wanted to have big hands,
hands of a soldier:
to hold you so tight
as to brush death
and then come back here;
I would have wanted to make love
like a man would,
but with the tenderness,
the uncertain shyness
that only we have...

Men, endless waiting,
and desperate anger
to imitate the sky;
breaking anything
that's not theirs!
Write to me from another love:
your words
will seem in the evening
like the last kiss
from your light mouth.