Mourning (Italian Poem)

To Giovanna and her big, swollen heart.

Translation

We are broken things,

but still filled.

We are things

that step away, but stay right there.

(Bullying voids swallow

shy signs of presence,

but presence has no need to shout its “everywheres”).

We have no time,

but we are the time that we share.

And death – let it die alone.

by Creativivian

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