Capita – che ci attenda il ritornare
in quel luogo che precede il giorno
con una brezza di palme nella sera
nell’intatta forza del canneto
in quel canto che scorda il suo cercare.

I'm going where the sea and crickets
keep the silence alive
eternal coupling of air and light
where the road becomes a path
and the tall wisteria protects
the unchanged fulfillment of summer.

And the ancient fig will guide me
with its ample wrinkled hand,
the small struggle of its buds
in a contained rush of harmony.
Here I'll await the last echo
of fishing lights, the buzz of fireflies
lost without their darkness
and the soft thud of the ancient fig
that accompanies
the persistence of life
the furrow of sails on the high seas.