for Izet
We're keeping your seat warm,
the Grappa chilled.
Massimo's tuning up,
waiting for your first note
to lead us into song.
Everywhere your face, a mirage,
that boyish grin like a lopsided moon,
drowning in a wave of meloncholia.
Always up to some mischief, some wisdom.
You're here and not. We grow restless waiting.
Nothing to do with our hands,
but go on holding your smoking cigarette.
We can't begin without you.
"So Andiamo Izet. Andiamo Clementine....."
Listen to the silence
your absence has created.
Where can we hang
the interrupted conversation
we were having with you.
Late on a rusty night,
dancing on cobblestones
while all Salerno slep.
Just the sea awake, busy with itself,
slapping the bottoms of boats,
tide coming in...
"When are you? Where?"
And what shall we do
with our hearts
tugging at this empty space.
Tide going out,
leaving us stones to mumble,
"missing you, missing you."
Incontri internazionali di Sarajevo, 2003.