Journal of Italian Translation

Piazza Nicolai-Merwin-Lecomte-Rosselli-Bigon
The Long Bodies
Voices lift up to the plangent God
lament, souls and lances
beneath the throat, nailing
breastplates and clamps
in the violet without peace.
The mists wrap around the hills
prayers,
drops of water on the stones.
Memory’s veil opens up,
the tide transcends the marker
placed to divide matter
from spirit. A lonely voice
the word of the world
that rips me within, almost yells.
Others populate the echo
of human depth
feeding itself on the time
and the place, without end.
Dressed in black the long bodies
are almost lost in the drawn faces
of a people consumed by the look
of one who is begging for justice
no longer in the hour of death
but of forgiveness.
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