Poem by my Venetian Friend, Davide Trame
Walking downhill in the high valley
I could find a slow pace, very slow-
short, gentle steps that brushed the ground
before touching it, so as to reduce
the blades of pain in my bad foot.
And I found myself thanking the sky
with the quiet, massive,
painless blades of the mountains.
Eyes wet, I was embracing
the rocky ring of the horizon with relief.
I was sensing the precariousness of heaven
in our mortal moments, under the stare
of the mountains sweeping in and out
eyes and breaths in a cloudless day.
Showing in a few steps of relief,
under the scope of the sheer cliffs,
the thin edge of peace.