this time will pass
other times will come
the men who today enter and leave their homes
They will be dead and replaced by other men
that they will enter and leave the same houses
Those too will die and their children will come in their place.
and after their death perhaps the same houses will die
because the doors and windows will fall hurt
because time grates slowly but inexorably
scratches the aromas of walnuts with its red tooth
that fall from the tree and gnaw at the tree and gnaw at the girl who climbs it,
this time will wander into another time
another river will open in the river and there will be as many Heraclitus as there are flies,
comedies will be written again in Greece
and there will always be an Empire and a Jesus to hate,
other birds will come to replace the shadow of future birds
past and present and nonexistent yet more will come
birds, there will be life forever
in any of its forms, even if there are prisons that
They will build their locks on the dust of other prisons
freedom will always be bigger, more annoying, more angry,
I want to say that this poem doesn't even matter
because other poets will come and better and more beautiful and more arduous, I mean: this city in which we walk
will fall, will sink like a clam in the sand and there will be
again nature and animals and also new cities
with other names, there will be loves so beautiful that
From there will come the gods of the future who will walk in sandals
biting fruits that we do not yet know and that will replace
pears and apricots,
this time will pass
worse ones will come and then better ones and once
a song will be made without any musical instrument,
touching a stone with the little finger
that will not be called stone, because there will be no more words
This time will be spent swallowing mistletoe and castles,
something very similar to silence will be organic and happy.