White

From a ways, the sky and your hands come to my eyes, from some distant part of you; it’s snowing out, you’re all in the white of the snow every track in the candor a wound and the field beyond the window is a body a glance that becomes a pronouncement, the heat of breath, your head adrift in sleeplessness; that’s where it returns, in a word translated into silence where the sparrows tie loose knots your palms on your eyes, chest on your knees forehead in the snow. Translated from the Italian