wrote the four elements of jet 
and if we could go back? if we could, I say, calmly reviewing our lives?
switch among a pile of rubble illuminated by oblique light of the sun, pass through light beams carrying myriads of dust-colored gold.
see again faces and faces, places and things.
feel on our skin the water that remains when you leave the sea and the ancient one on his lips not to feel the scorching heat when the sun caresses the mountains and then go to sleep behind a blanket of white clouds.
feel once again the cookie to melt into the milk, will review the pink that stands in the vessel, warning about the warm hands of the strange velvet caressed.
we contemplate our one thousand awakenings, dreams and relive the events with the heart upside down.
if we could do that would be great. for every memory a new name and a new color.
would like to follow the veins of the cortex that surrounds the tree.
a high and sacred tree, with deep roots, leafy, gathering light and return it in the form of dew.
the German Romantics called
sehnsucht nostalgia for something that has never had or that, I add, has slipped through his fingers like fine sand of the day.
nostalgia that envelops everything, just like the snow, and that dampens the tears, which dampens the rice, you tucks over the weary soul.
are what they are because the memories that I carry within them have a texture, one that in my present only to recognize you still want to fulfill.
cherries are ripe, full of juice, which spappolano in your hands, you dirty mouth, you are intoxicated. perhaps because life has no meaning, but certainly has a value, which we attribute to the same white clouds.
