Friday, November 13, 2020



Dream of a summer day.

Limitless cicadas

trilled and quivered.

Wind from the north

whipped crumpled leaves

through a line of trees.

Sun fell between elms

in strips of dust:

From the sky, two clouds

hung threadbare:

white brushed

across wide blue air.

Tamarisk shrubs,

pomegranate trees, the far

throb of a threshing machine

and the silvery swell

of the evening call to prayer. . .

Where was I? The bell

for the prayer said where,

in tears, while a dog

bayed at a stranger

who walked by, head bowed.

Giovanni Pascoli
Selected Poems
translated by Taije Silverman with
Marina Della Putta Johnston
Princeton 2019 

Tell me you don't have the outdoors circulating through you