[Then there were the almost] Poem by Antonio Santori

Then there were the almost
silent nights, from the bed you heard
the noises of others, of women workers feeling
the heat, of children clerks
lost in their collections.
You counted the lost sheep,
organized them, they always
assaulted the idiotic shepherd
you identified with.

In the streets the wheels
of bicycles, it was weird
to hear them on the manholes,
the sounds roused, the sounds
out there seemed
eternal.
Like the naked boys
on the grass full of cigarettes.

You felt yourself in the beds
of others, in their
sheets, you convened
the interlaced legs,
the backs, you removed
your eyeshadow.

It was strange to hear
children in sleep,
they seemed dead,
you trained your hearing
on improvised trees,
lost in their voids.
One could hear the bodies rustle,
asleep. One could hear
the dreams.

Translated by Tania Calcinaro