White

From a ways, the sky and your hands

come to my eyes, from some distant part of you;

it’s snowing out, you’re all in the white of the snow

every track in the candor a wound

and the field beyond the window is a body

a glance that becomes a pronouncement,

the heat of breath, your head adrift in sleeplessness;

that’s where it returns, in a word translated into silence

where the sparrows tie loose knots

your palms on your eyes, chest on your knees

forehead in the snow.

Translated from the Italian