Davide Trame

I remember redness,
a sediment present now
as the hidden throat of the seconds
of sun and stone.
From the top you could see
this huge nerve of rocks
that almost howled to view,
and inside it, in the valley,
you were corralled by high
brown and crimson peaks
that are kings
spreading silence all over
even if an erratic river
loosened itself in thousand veins
on the sunlit gravel.
It kept scattering away
your sense of direction
and it's laughing now
on your loneliness,
with the majesty of the mountains
which have always been
penetrated by loneliness
and have shrugged it away
knifing the sky
with their swarms of eyes
and promising peace for the body
when it will finally lie down and soar.