Here comes the Poets’ season at last

washing their old thoughts at the inn

with songs stained with generous wine

…Dancing Muse among the early fogs of the Po river

and accordions playing tango.

We “Crepuscolari” of the year 2000

we are not very audacious

but we cultivate flowers in the cement

which we give to passers-by

…Little match sellers of ignis fatuu.