Love at its start and at its finish is nota sentiment but in your arrival a restlessfury, eye of cyclones, the dream of a fossilized gazesmashed under amberarrangement of starsin the air and on your face – each step a last judgment.Sentiments change, but not the strugglebetween the life that seeks out lifeand the life that seeks out death.Love, hold me tightly, can you feel it?muted, howling in the streets of Italyand in what Italy’s becomingamong blood’s scintillas and rudewaiterssomething that knows not your name, andlike a killer, no eyes no pastgrazes and poisons all the day’s names.But you love at the start and at the finishcall out to the wind, invent new paths of returndon’t leave the these plazas deprived of youhands on cribs, cars aligned against the sunand poems and women, these crazy women