The asphalt was burning and you were alone
among the trees of Quarto Oggiaro1 and the undying
lights of bars and the houses
from the fifties, balconies and basil,
a concert of seedlings and the sea:
come back, don't ever come back
here, in the nostalgia of the living, come back,
don't come back, come back, ever, anymore.
1
Quarto Oggiaro is a peripheral neighborhood in Milan.
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Summer Feature 2013
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Editor's Note
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Poetry
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Essay