Autumn Maneuvers

I'm not saying that was yesterday. With worthless
Summer money in our pockets we are again
on the chaff of scorn, in the autumn maneuvers of time.
And the escape route to the south does not come to us,
like the birds. past, in the evening,
pull fishing trawlers and gondolas, and sometimes
a splinter of dreamy marble hits me,
where i am vulnerable, by beauty, in aug.

I read a lot about the cold in the newspapers
and its consequences, of the foolish and the dead,
of exiles, murderers and myriads
of ice floes, but little that pleases me.
why? Before the beggar who comes at noon
I slam the door 'cause it's peace
and you can save yourself the sight, but don't
the joyless dying of the leaves in the rain.

Let's take a trip! Let's go under cypresses
or under the palm trees or in the orange groves
see sunsets at reduced prices,
who have no equal! Let's
forgotten unanswered letters to yesterday!
Time works wonders. But if she does us wrong,
with the pounding of guilt: we are not at home.
In the basement of my heart, sleepless, I find myself again
on the chaff of scorn, in the autumn maneuvers of time.