La parola da casa, Serena Piccoli

returns

a deciphering
of signals
thirteen or just two at a moment
when hands shift and
your notion of release is someone else’s

notion of forgetting
as if memory was an object
that tides could keep
locked in
by sunshine
when the air outside
allows for breath

for now

relations walk slowly among
inconnected alleys
as wind works the telltales
and parrakeets sing to each other
in ashes
waiting

for action
under a blue sky

in a space

far from their own

a times one does not recognize the act