La parola da casa, Serena Piccoli

underknowing

bullets surround a signal phrase like
a guiding light in the sixth circle

i stopped near a fence
reached into my coat
and pulled out oblivion

before heraclitus looked at the river
he had decided that
light scatters
through branches
in patterns that
cannot be returned in formulas

salt dye
buckets red hair

long handles crack in cold

do not apologize for inaction
for the time has passed.