La parola da casa, Serena Piccoli

in relinquishing touch

atoms
thrown through the texas nights
onto city streets
where puntas wait for another
lost direction
in mid-summer
when the air is stiff
and signs for greying neighborhoods
are covered with ivy
as if to state
the season is too hot for
anything
even though we are asking for only
one visionary light
to lead us under freeways
through back alleys
to some unrepentant love