Motivo.

MOTIVO.

La ruggine, che colora questa

macchina, mi porta a schiantarmi con

La decadenza che accompagna il mio

Indolente riposo.

Se non fosse che scrivo, distingueresti a fatica

Il mio cadavere dal

mio corpo sospinto alla

cenere.

M’affacio alla finestra mentre cadono

foglie. Uno spettacolo che inganna

l’orologio.

Assaggio questa delizia per ricordarmi il bello

d’esser vivo.

Cristo! Ancora guardo il cielo aspettando

Un buon motivo.

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