Journal of Italian Translation

Death
In every Place
I have
Felt you
Passing
And returning
Like
The wind
Passes
And returns.
I have nothing
Truly nothing
That’s mine.
From shirt
To hat
I no longer
Have anything
That’s mine.
Out of my eyes
I’ve made a snare
For winter.
I’ve put my ears
At the service
Of cunning.
From my hearing
to my cloak
I no longer
Have anything
That’s mine.
Even my hands
Have ceased to be mine.
They belong
to this bony gun
which in the dark
resembles me.
At every day’s end
When the sky dies
Rina Ferrarelli/Raffaele Carrieri
Death
I Have Nothing
Day’s End
155