Thirst

Now you want me to tell you

a history of fish

while the lake clouds over?

But don’t you see

how thirst beats in the throat

of the lizards on the crushed leaves?

On the ground

autumn’s dead hedgehogs

have plunged through the periwinkles.

And you chew

the parched stalks:

already the corner of your lip is bleeding a bit.

And now

you want me to tell you

the history of birds?

But in the heat

of noon, the wild cuckoo

flies alone.

And still

the lost puppy howls among the brambles:

perhaps the bay horse, running,

struck him with a black hoof

on his snout.

Translated from the Italian

Notes:

The copyright of this poem belongs to the “Carlo Cattaneo” and “Giulio Preti” International Insubric Center for the Philosophy, Epistestemology, Cognitive Sciences and the History of the Science and Techniques of the University of Insubria.

Source: Poetry (October 2019)