. . . And yet Poem by Roberto Amato

. . . and yet
it happens

when I put my hand
there
where you think you feel a kind of pain
but there's really nothing. Or at least
I who feel nothing continue to observe the spot
where my finger has found air
or something even more transparent.

But what is it I wanted to tell you?
Is it possible that the words are so disconnected
or
I don't know
lost between me and you
(allow me an unconscious metaphor)
like carrier pigeons that no-one can train…

Translation: 2017, Matilda Colarossi