Tu mi parli della tua vita e dell’angelo che ha lasciato in te il profumo della presenza...

Tell me of your life, and of the angel you left in the perfume of your presence...


To wake up on a hill, is what you’re missing. With lightly bent branches and eased foot steps leading to where we fell asleep. Somewhere high and quiet. It’s not the rush we’re looking for, but the suspension. Height making magnitude, and magnitude, stillness. So we slip down and swell up.

(what you’re missing, to be diminished)