I do not know why but I remember this montale: this should be so real.
will almost seven years since the re-read.
no wonder that the word squares on each side
our minds without form, and letters of fire
the state and shine like a crocus
lost in the middle of a dusty field.
Ah man who goes safely,
to others and to himself a friend,
shadow Its not care that the heat wave
print on a crumbling wall!
not ask the formula to open your worlds, so some crooked
syllable and dry as a branch.
Codest only now we can tell, not
what we are, what we want not .
Eugenio Montale (1896-1981)
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