nel mezzo del cammin

morning dew like honey on a thin slice of silence - a pause in the story;

you’re wondering whether too much was said and the cup may overflow. 

close your eyes, take a sip from the refreshing brew,

enjoy the absence.

the garden changes colours as summer fades away: 

frail petals, sweet on the wind’s tongue - 

they expect the arrival of a new orchestra of foliages and whispering trees -

evanescent music for the days of self-forgetting; 

a new beginning seems so obvious here, at the end of the world: 

its asymmetric pattern grows like ivy around the old (overwritten) story; 

no more borders between memory and dreams: 

just a river of smoke and dead flowers rushing towards the forgiving ocean; 

the seagulls’s screams make you no longer feel besieged, bereft, beset;

be brave! chin up! in no time you’ll be gift-wrapped for the stars.

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