Piazza Liberta
[Piazza Liberta]
Trieste. Of my February foggy white dense
a student, to expect this term to finish
You kept me in your spiritual shrine's sense
first year in the University, time to diminish.
I am waiting! Even if I knew you 'll never be
of my exclusion in this fog's heart wedges
My margin of this February will write, maybe
of your beloved one, the waves of souls edges.
(I made an acquaintance with sailors
of a cargo-boat, they tell me stories
about terrible typhoons, wild sharks
of Indian Ocean, routes upon maps.)
In three months I learned the language well
And every night, February's visitor you were
Ideally solitaire of my life's kind dream
keeping me company, a light that will never beam.
February, fog, people walk in Piazza Liberta
a trattoria, company of students, of you I think
I am writing this letter; you, of my words trace,
inside the fog, are calling me, with an embrace.
-
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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