After sunset a fox strolls on top of the brick wall, the nose down to smell, her fawn tail ligthly touches the bright crescent moon in a motionless, cobalt sky.
the poetry ends here, unless I persist in finding it even in the shower head, that suddenly and noisy drips in the middle of the night.
In this incredible beginning of September, I start with the Bellum Alexandrinum and a biography of an italian movie director (anonimity is the clue) and I giggle, turning my back to the past five years, which I began to feel too heavy and in some ways even disastrous (i.e. non performing): now, I feel like that fox.
Should I learn to walk sniffing, without giving too much importance to the next obstacle? we may still be able to skip it.
Yesterday: we get in the car, all four of us; the car does not start off and we get out of the car: a silent cinema script.