dawn brings with it the sorrow of light
of one who does not want to be seen
a voice that must be hidden
in a place
that is does not belong
is it a river or a breeze
or the running water that grieves
onto itself
that make one wish to be free
the forbidden song of the cricket
lies among the roses
and wind floats by whispering of Che Guevara
and Crazy Horse
on a morning of frost
in the soreness of waking
the cry of humanity goes out of itself
as impossible to stop
as the weeping of water
as the weeping of a child
Milan, January 31, 1997, Piero's home