I once thought
to bind you with my words,
but now to your words
I wish only to be bound—
and to the devil if they fall
on faces bittered by them
and ears deaf to your song.
An excerpt From Mottetti (Poems of Love) by Eugenio Montale
You know this: I must lose you again and cannot.
Every action, every cry strikes me
like a well-aimed shot, even the salt spray
that spills over the harbor walls
and makes spring
dark against the gates of Genoa.