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25 April 2010, by redazione
A fire-pot of thoughts makes red hot the night
while I pack the lost thing list
the gone –by hopes
the wind far ghosts.
They weren’t certainties, sand and crusts
nests of snakes and black scorpions
dripped into the slow passing of the hours.
I’m waiting for the day with its dowry of light.
and then I will embrace a whole sun beam
filigree of never dying salvation.
This charming and catching poem is taken from the latest book written by Giovanni Nacca, FERITOIE (Loopholes). Its 10 (...)