Your fingers marking a conversation
which did not want to be recorded by us
in Black Cuttlefish and Sauvognon Blanc glasses
which would be abandoned.
"This town," you said, "is a clock replaced by the sun."
now he understands: also the map
conceals his memory,
like the night of Russia
hides a city.
each lander will not recognize the shack location,
traces of sand crabs,
stalk of the last rambai,
where the rest of the rain
somewhat is disguised
then he closes the shutters
and he returns to the table,
to the map
with the unclear color of the sea
***
[CZ-lacalifusa032814-30]
