(Photo by Diana Ilaria, "The Decline of the soul ...") I saw the sun
honeyed Sea
salt water at the bottom of Always
refractions and gold you
by the song of cicadas foreboding
among the scents of the forest sand
flowered shores of the avenue
washed with tears fatal
the descent of tenderness
that inviolate heart of abandonment,
I get lost in this beauty
no one from a penalty that I do not understand.
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