To my friend Ilaria

There is no past and no tomorrow

the veil of truth is thin

but what we make of it is golden

and in our precious time we seek the garlands of our passion.


And why then should our memories take root in the oblivion?


A secret well with water that began the dream with ashes

will someday be a cause to begin following the ecos

of souls adrift tomorrow, we can speak until the night descends

but today we throw our anchors.


The earth is still alive and we are part of it

and when we smell its ardour and our roots grow in their placements

a yet discreet entwine does mark the spots of our illusions

and the hope to find the northern star speaks thousands of parole.