II Poem by Antonella Anedda

I didn't want names for unknown dead
yet I wanted them to exist
I wanted an anonymous tongue
- mine -
to speak of many anonymous deaths.
What we call peace
has only the brief relief of truce.
If name is also reaching oneself
none of these dead has reached his destiny.

There are but places, those of an island
from which to scan the Continent
the east - its wars
the dust they cast to confuse
the verdict: we are not saved
we do not save
other than with an oblique courage
with a gesture
of minimum light.