Naked and grateful
In a warm bed,
My skin is thirsty for the sea
And my bones
My lousy bones, they cry
for the passeggiata.
My lips languish
In the saltless air,
And the fields of chamomile
Would strike the irons of my spirit,
But sometimes,
Even if you can –
You shouldn’t go back.
The mountain man longs for the endless horizon of plains,
The plains-woman dreams of the hustle and bustle, and trains;
The tamers of seas will not part with their callous’d gold sun
The trav’ler sings songs of the homeland from where she’d begun.
For all your cash, a country-man, would not leave what he knows;
On any day I’ve felt the same as every one of those.
prince nothing 