La parola da casa, Serena Piccoli

el laberinto

i am looking for you
in the voices that are me—
so many voices as if life
itself is just a voice speaking
in a language that i do not
understand as if the wind
that moves changes everything
radically in an instant so that
trying to understand
is futile even if it seems
that directions are clear—
this is north, that is east.
that guides one barely at all
barely enough for one to find
that one is lost (i am
lost) and that no direction
exists to be found—that all
is without center and that
even the oracles are without
sight, only murmuring in
confusion through a drugged
haze that now makes them
criminal and perhaps that
is the only thing to be.